


No Because, No Reason, No Explanation, No Solutions

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Ass Play, Ass to Mouth, Avengers Vol. 3 (1998), Barebacking, Bathing/Washing, Begging, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Tony, Bottom Tony Stark, Bruises, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Comfort Food, Consensual Kink, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom Steve, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Endearments, Enemas, Erectile Dysfunction, Established Relationship, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Felching, Finger Sucking, Food, Food and Eating, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Insecure Tony, Insecure Tony Stark, Insecurity, Intense Sex, Kissing, Large Cock, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Loving Objectification, M/M, Manhandling, Marathon Sex, Mention of switching, Mentions of Casual Sex, Mentions of underage drinking, Mild humiliation kink, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Neck Kissing, Nipple Play, Obedience, Objectification, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Anxiety, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Pet Names, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Power Play, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rough Sex, Service Top, Sexual Content, Sexual Dysfunction, Size Kink, Sub Tony, Sub Tony Stark, Subspace, Tender Sex, Top Steve, Top Steve Rogers, Wet & Messy, current exclusive relationship, light pain kink, loving dom, mention of sub Steve, mention of top Tony, mentions of drinking, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, past drinking, past open relationship, performance anxiety, soft cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-14 00:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 93,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11771670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: He let his hands rest, warmly, on Steve’s shoulders, against his neck.  “I just want you to fuck me, soldier,” he managed to get out, breathy.  “I want you to fuck me, yes, in my ass, and not stop.  Again and again, until it’s out of your system.”Steve and Tony and a marathon sex encounter.  That's it, that's the fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime during Avengers vol. 3. The backstory to this fic is that Steve and Tony have been friends with benefits for years and years, but only recently got together (sometime toward the end of Avengers vol. 1, before the events of The Crossing), but this doesn't come into it much. This fic is more explicit and has even more graphic sexual content than many of my others. It also deals a great deal with Tony's struggles to maintain an erection, and in fact Tony spends most of the fic with his cock soft rather than hard and does not achieve an orgasm despite the marathon fucking. This is part of the fic and the dynamic between them. The fic will be posted in several chapters.
> 
> Title quote:
> 
> “Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.”  
> ― Anaïs Nin, _Henry And June_

“So,” Tony said. “Got a proposition for you, big guy.”

Steve looked up at that. He looked tired—his eyes were tight at the corners, his lips drawn. “Yeah?” he said, then licked his lips and looked around like he thought Henry Gyrich might be hiding behind a curtain somewhere. “You mean. Like . . .?”

It had been a hard week. Steve had been on edge—Tony wasn’t totally sure what was going on with him, just that he’d spent most of it in his own bed rather than sharing Tony’s, and on anyone else he might have called it “jumping at shadows.” He tended to do that when he was in a mood where he thought—well, thought that he might be violent if Tony woke him in the night. Steve, of course, pushed it down until it bubbled up as him being brusque, short-tempered, and generally low-key pissy with everyone, especially Clint. Tony had seen it before, and he knew he’d see it again, but he was getting a little tired of seeing Steve’s knuckles healing from tearing open on one of the twenty-two separate punching bags he’d managed to destroy this week (they were the reinforced ones, too, that Tony had designed to _resist_ that kind of thing).

It hadn’t been a good week for Tony, either. He was exhausted himself; he’d been at Stark until about eight at night minimum every night that week, getting ready for a new product launch, and on top of that—well, he didn’t know. His brain hadn’t been cooperating with him. It was hard to sleep now without Steve there beside him. He’d been—he’d had a hell of a lot of work to do, and it had been getting in his head. Work, the state of the world, the Avengers—he didn’t know, all of it, bubbling in the back of his mind all the time so that his brain was going a thousand miles an hour and he couldn’t slow it down. Sometimes sex helped when he got like this, but he hadn’t wanted to bother Steve with it, so he’d tried to work it out through rubbing one out, but that hadn’t worked either; like so often when he got like this, something in his brain had shut down, and he hadn’t been able to make himself come—that horrible catch-22 that kept sex from being an easy way out. And that hadn’t exactly been relaxing. Tony felt tense, and tired, wound tight until his whole body ached, and his eyes were scratchy with the sleep he couldn’t get no matter how hard he tried. He ended up lying awake, staring at the ceiling with his mind going a thousand miles a minute until he gave up and got back to work.

He put his hands on his hips, sauntered over to smirk down at Steve, made sure it was warm, seductive, a hopefully perfect mix of affectionate and suave. “Yeah, I was thinking so,” he said. “Like sex, gorgeous. What do you say?”

Steve looked down at his fist, clenched tight against the table, then, slowly, flattened it out and took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Tony,” he said. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea . . . .”

“Sure it is,” Tony told him. He leaned down, grabbed Steve’s tie, then traced his finger gently along under the loop of it where it encircled Steve’s neck. “You’re tense, have been all week. You need to let off steam and the gym hasn’t been doing it for you. You need to let off _more_ than that, because it’s deep down, under your skin, and dealing with Gyrich and the government suits hasn’t been helping.” Steve’s face twisted a little, settled, which was as good as a confession. Tony softened his voice, made it go huskier, more enticing, as he smiled. “Well, sweet stuff, lucky you, because you have me, and I’m _great_ for letting off steam. Made for it.”

Steve swallowed; Tony could feel it against his finger. His eyes were very big and very blue where he looked up at Tony. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “You said—I mean, you noticed. You must have. I’ve been having some trouble with—with—”

“Your temper?” Tony murmured, and swallowed, because sure, there was a little flutter of anxiety in his belly when he thought about that, but that wasn’t the point. Steve needed this, or something like it, and so did Tony. “And the control thereof?”

Steve flushed miserably. “Yeah,” he admitted, hunching his big, strong shoulders and looking like a lost puppy, his brows squinching together. “I’ll get through it, though, Tony. It’s okay.”

“I’m not made of glass,” Tony pointed out, and somehow, yeah, now he felt more certain. Just seeing Steve like that made him want to reach out, give him everything he could to untighten those wretchedly tight muscles, relax that miserable set to his mouth. “Ever think that you losing some control is exactly what I’m looking for?”

Steve bit his bottom lip, looked down, pressed his hands together. “I’d like to,” he said, breathed, really, “but I’m not—you don’t know what you’re . . . .”

“Oh, come on,” Tony said. “I’ve only known you how long by now? Steve. I _know_ you could bend me in half like a pretzel and break me just as easily.”

Steve went white, then redder than he’d been before. “Tony,” he said. He still stood up when Tony pulled on his tie, like he couldn’t resist Tony’s pull, stumbling forward like he wanted to touch him but couldn’t let himself. His hands clenched and unclenched.

“Come on, big guy,” Tony said, with his very best seductive grin. “Turn me into a pretzel.”

Steve laid his hands on Tony’s waist, just for a second, and swallowed, and then he leaned forward and kissed Tony, gently, as if Tony was the finest, most fragile porcelain, framing his face carefully in his hands. “The last thing I want is to hurt you,” he said. “What if I . . .”

“I’ll tell you,” Tony murmured, responding to the ache and uncertainty in Steve's eyes, even as he played with the knot in Steve’s tie, tightening it and loosening it again until Steve was flushing and swallowing. “If you really hurt me, Steve, I’ll tell you. I swear.” After a moment of searching Tony’s face and looking lost, hands working and clenching on his hips, Steve took a deep breath and blew it back out, then nodded and let Tony lead him upstairs.

Tony, as he made absolutely, indisputably, crystal clear to Steve, was looking to be worked over. He wanted Steve to exhaust him, to _wreck_ him. Make it so he couldn’t think. And he knew just what he wanted in that respect—specifically, Steve’s cock. He rephrased it several times, just to be certain that Steve got the picture in no uncertain terms.

Steve was, to put it mildly, large. In fact, he was huge. Stacked. Hung. Whatever you wanted to call it. Tony had never actually seen a cock as big as Steve’s except in porn. It was an issue, sometimes, because Tony tended to be tight, and tense when it came to anal sex, and those two facts of respective physiology didn’t always mesh well. It was a good thing Steve didn’t mind bottoming, a lot of the time, in fact really liked it, because Tony had . . . trouble with it, and not just because Steve was big. It was in his own head, too, the things—people had said about it—he knew it was stupid (it didn’t make him less of a man). But it was—strange, different. Made him feel worked over, used. Wet and sore, achy.

Tonight that was exactly what he was looking for. The strange, diffuse pleasure that slowly built up in his whole body rather than his cock. That feeling of being split open, taken apart, used for another man’s, for _Steve’s_ , pleasure. _Fucked_. It was what he needed. He knew it was. If he thought about it too hard, he started to get breathless and jittery and his breath started coming too fast in his throat, that was how badly he wanted it.

“Tony,” Steve said, hesitantly, even as he took off his shirt and hung it over the back of a nearby chair. “I’m not sure if . . .”

“What,” Tony asked, “that’s a good idea?”

“Well,” Steve said, crossing his arms across his chest. “You said it, not me.”

“Steve,” Tony said, getting up in his personal space. “Gorgeous. Baby. Poppet. Honeymuffin.” He put his hands on Steve’s chest, now covered only by his undershirt, skimmed them up to rest against his neck.

“Poppet?” Steve said, and his face was relaxing into a smile, his eyes lightening.

“ _Mon petit cher_ ,” Tony said, curling his fingers over, rubbing his knuckles down the sides of Steve’s neck. He let his voice go purring and soft. “ _Dolce mio_. You won’t hurt me.”

“Tony,” Steve said, looking pained, “I have hurt you. The last time I put my cock in you, we had to stop.”

“It wasn’t working for me that night,” Tony said with a wince. It was true, it had been—something in his hips wouldn’t loosen, wouldn’t relax. It had felt like trying to work Steve’s gigantic package into him through a vise. “That isn’t anything to do with you.”

“Isn’t it?” Steve murmured. His hand came up, palmed at the side of Tony’s head, brushed his hair off his face.

“Not at all,” Tony said. He turned his head, closed his eyes, pushed into that touch, pressed his lips against Steve’s palm, trying to show how much he trusted him. “It was all me. Sometimes my body doesn’t play nice, you know that.”

“I do,” Steve said, “yeah, okay, but—it was my cock.”

“Well, yeah,” Tony said, smiling up at him ruefully. “Whose else would it be? But anyone’s cock would have run into the same problem that night, I’ll promise you that.”

“That’s—as may be,” Steve said, stolidly, “maybe so. But—you look tired, Tony.” His fingers curled in against Tony’s hair.

“Mmm,” Tony agreed. He let his lips linger over the base of Steve’s palm, not opening his eyes. “I am tired, stud.”

“So,” Steve said. “That doesn’t follow. You’re tired and I’m—stressed—so you want my cock more than you did then? You want me to—to—”

Yeah, well, maybe that didn’t make total sense, as such, and he couldn’t explain it, but . . . . “Sexuality,” Tony said, “is a many-splendored thing, my dove. Don’t put me in a box. So it doesn’t make sense. I recognize that. Sometimes I don’t make sense, even to me.” And damn, how true that was almost hurt. “Does it have to?” He took both of Steve’s hands and squeezed them, opening his eyes again and smiling at him. “I want you to fuck me,” he said. “Don’t you want to?”

Steve swallowed. “I do,” he muttered.

“Then we can both get what we want,” Tony purred. He pushed Steve backward, onto the bed, and Steve shook his head, but then he smiled and reached for Tony and ran his hands down over Tony’s back, warm over his hips, pulling Tony down over him, and Tony knew this was going to go ahead, and felt a swell of relief so warm and hot he had to squeeze his eyes shut tight against it for a moment.

“Listen,” Tony told Steve, a little bit later, as Steve fumbled with the lube, their clothes now entirely dispensed with and draped over various chairs (okay, so Steve's were folded neatly in and around the chair). He bit his lip. He’d been putting this off, a little, because he wasn’t totally sure how Steve was going to take it. Steve stopped, looked up at him, looking concerned. Tony chewed on his bottom lip. Steve had . . . worried about Tony’s issues with orgasm. He always wanted him to come, to make it good for him, and sometimes Tony just . . . well, couldn’t, and that didn’t mean he didn’t want sex, or didn’t want _Steve_ to come. They’d talked about it before, Tony trying to get Steve to see that orgasm wasn’t the pinnacle for him, that what with his health problems it wasn’t always a given for him, hadn’t been for years, and that didn’t mean he didn’t want sex, that for him, sex wasn’t just about building to a peak and tipping over, it was different, and he still enjoyed that, as much as he hated how little his body cooperated with him some days. It had been like that ever since the days of the chestplate, though, and he was used to it. Circulation issues and everything else meant that sometimes an erection wasn’t on the menu for very long, and—Tony had always had trouble, sometimes, pushing himself over the peak in his head, anyway. “I might not come tonight,” Tony finally said.

Steve blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Are you sure? You—”

“I’ve been having trouble,” Tony said, bluntly, “staying hard. I’ve been in my head too much, I guess.”

“Oh,” Steve said. His big, strong, warm hand skimmed up along Tony’s thigh, circled his cock and gave it a few soft tugs. Tony whimpered, couldn’t help it, bent over Steve, panting. As always, the way his cock looked in Steve’s hand, utterly encircled by his broad fingers, enfolded easily, almost small, made something hot and helpless and needy uncoil at the base of Tony’s spine, in his belly. It should have been a little humiliating, that contrast, even if Tony wasn’t all that small compared to _most_ guys, he was totally average, okay, and maybe it kind of was, but—but it was so damn hot, too, seeing his cock disappear under Steve’s fingers. “Yeah,” Steve breathed, rubbing his thumb gently over Tony’s tip. “You have seemed a little bit anxious. On edge. Are you sure you don’t want my help, though? I might be able to make you come.”

Tony swallowed, tried not to thrust too obviously forward into Steve’s hold and end up giving the guy mixed signals. It was so hard to put this into words, and the thought of trying made hot, humiliated warmth crawl up the back of his neck and into his ears. “I . . . it’s too much,” he finally managed to breath out, not meeting Steve’s eyes. He’d been trying too long, too hard, to push himself over the peak, and he was just . . . exhausted. He was so damn tired of chasing it and not being able to get there, and if he failed to get there while Steve was hoping for it, expecting it of him—it’d be like a punch to the gut. It had been such a long week. He just wanted to let go. He—he didn’t want to worry about that. He just wanted to be there for Steve. He wanted Steve to get lost in him. He didn’t want to worry about his own stupid fucking cock for once. “I . . . Steve, if I can’t . . . I don’t want to worry about it.”

Steve blinked, bit at his bottom lip, worried at it for a long moment. “Are you sure?” he said finally, his hand stilling, wrapped around Tony’s cock and making him shiver at the warmth, the solidity of that softly callused grip and how perfect it felt around his cock.

“Yeah,” Tony mumbled. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“No need to be sorry,” Steve said, and started stroking Tony again, slowly, gently. “You have seemed awful tired. Tense, just like me, huh?”

“Lot of work to do,” Tony gasped out through the pleasure that Steve was wringing out of his helpless, stupid body. “Can’t stop thinking.”

“So you want me to help you stop thinking?” Steve said, and smiled up at him. “I can probably do that for you, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Tony whined, his thighs shaking. “That was the plan.” He let his hands rest, warmly, on Steve’s shoulders, against his neck. “I just want you to fuck me, soldier,” he managed to get out, breathy. “I want you to fuck me, yes, in my ass, and not stop. Again and again, until it’s out of your system.”

“But,” Steve said, and his brows drew together, “Tony—”

“Nuh-uh-uh-uh,” Tony said. “Nope. None of that. No ‘but Tony.’ I want you to go as many—as many times as you want. Until you don’t want to come again, until you’re actually tired of coming, tired of fucking me. _Tired_ , do you get me? None of this ‘oh, but Tony, you’re done, it’s fine’ business.” He smacked Steve’s gorgeous bared chest lightly. “I don’t care if I’m done,” he said. And swallowed. This—this was what he wanted. It really was. “Fuck me past the point I can take it, Steve,” he said. “Fuck me until I’m open and dripping and can’t clench down around you anymore. I know you like that.”

Steve flushed.

Tony smiled. “See?” he said. “I’m giving you open, VIP access to my ass, Steve. I don’t want it back until it’s wrecked. Until I can’t stand up or sit down. Until I can’t even move. Until you’re feeling relaxed. Tired. Sweaty. Capice?”

“I think I do,” Steve said, slowly. His hands traveled gently, softly, over Tony’s thighs. “You said—we could both get what we need. Right?”

Tony smiled at him. Now he was getting it. “That’s my boy,” he said.

“You’re okay with being sore?” Steve said. “You’re going to be sore.”

“I’m going into the office tomorrow,” Tony said, “but not until the afternoon. If you get me. It is a Saturday, after all.”

“Roger that,” Steve said, and smoothed his hand down Tony’s thigh. “Tony, I—I could really be too much for you.”

“I _want_ you to be too much for me,” Tony said, and it sounded raw, wrung out of him, too honest. “I want to—to sit down in my office chair and have it hurt, to feel wrecked, to feel you still inside me. Steve, I—”

Steve’s hands were soft and warm on his thighs as they rubbed gently at the muscle. “Okay,” he said. “I get it. Your rear? You’re sure you want that?”

“I’m _sure_ ,” Tony bit out, gasping. “I’m serious, Steve, damn it. I couldn’t be more sure, I swear to you.”

Steve nodded, his cheeks going a little more pink. “Okay,” he said. “I hear you. But—Tony—”

“Yeah?” Tony asked, raising his head to look at him. He wasn’t sure how many more ways he could ask, how much more convincing he could be.

Steve smiled up at him. “You have to do what I say,” he said.

Tony stared at him, then a flush went through him, warm, from the top of his head to his toes, and pleasure coiled in his belly. “Yes, sir,” he said fervently.

By the time Tony had Steve’s cock all the way inside him, he was sweating. He always forgot how big he _actually was_. He would have sworn, in court, no, fuck that, in front of Congress, if for some reason it came up, that he couldn’t possibly forget, that Steve’s cock was unforgettable, but every time he got Steve in him, it felt like somehow, he was even bigger than Tony had remembered. How could something that big even fit in his ass? He had no idea, no idea how he was doing it right that very second, would have sworn even a few seconds ago that he wouldn’t be able to do it, that there was no way all of it would fit. It felt impossibly big, like it had to be shoving parts inside Tony out of the way, to make room for itself, hollowing him out inside, like now there was less room for him to breathe, to even think, now that Steve’s dick was inside him. His ass felt stretched out, strained and trembling, and he knew his body was squeezing down on Steve helplessly but couldn’t seem to stop. He slumped forward, his hands open helplessly and twitching against Steve’s chest. The raw stretch of it was incredible, unbelievable. It was like some kind of optical illusion, a trick of engineering—a narrow channel taking much more than it was meant to hold and somehow being forced to reshape itself around it, keep that warm, hard, twitching rigid heat inside and stretch to make it fit.

“Shh,” Steve soothed. His hands came up, slid over Tony’s hips, ran back down over the trembling curve of his buttocks. “No, that’s it, Tony, it’s—it’s. It’s all inside now.” He was panting, too, and trembling. There was sweat shining on his chest. Tony knew it was from the strain of waiting, letting Tony work himself down on him until he was straddling him like he was now, thighs stretched out on either side of his hips.

Tony made a noise, hoping it would be a groan, but it came out as more of a whine. He hoped it didn’t sound too much like a whimper.

“You’re amazing,” Steve breathed. “Just look at you. Taking it all inside like that. I know it’s big—yeah, I know. You’ve got all of that inside you now. Who’d have ever thought you could do that, just looking at you?” His big hands squeezed at Tony’s hips, thumb sliding over his hipbone. “Look at these narrow little hips.”

“Oh-oh, God,” Tony groaned. “God, Steve. How do you always—it’s . . . it’s a lot.” He licked his lips, knowing they were wet with his saliva, not quite coordinated enough to suck it all back behind his lips.

Steve smiled. “I know it is,” he said. He skimmed his thumbs gently down the inside of Tony’s thighs, and somehow that just made Tony all the more aware of the gigantic, rigid cock spreading him out wide for it, the way his legs were straining to straddle Steve’s hips. He could feel Steve’s heat and pressure insistent against his prostate already—there was just no way to escape it, he was so huge. That pressure wasn’t going anywhere. It made sparks dance in front of Tony’s eyes. “Is it enough?” Steve murmured. “Good start on what you were after, Mr. Stark?”

That—that was too much. When Tony looked up at Steve, he was grinning, a playful light in his eyes, his face sweetly innocent. “You—that’s too sexy, Steve,” Tony groaned. Steve, playacting like he’d been back at the beginning, when they hardly knew each other, when Steve didn’t know who Iron Man was—

“What do you want me to do, Mr. Stark?” Steve asked, and bit his bottom lip, his eyes dancing.

“God,” Tony moaned. He reached up, let his hand rest against Steve’s neck, cupping his fingers against his cheek, his jaw. “What do you want to do, Cap?” he murmured teasingly.

“Steve, please, Mr. Stark,” Steve murmured. He turned his head and pressed a shy, sweet sort of kiss to Tony’s fingers. “My name is Steve.”

“Steve,” Tony said, shakily. “Sweet, pretty Steve. I’m a lucky guy. You can call me Tony.”

“All right, Mr. Stark—Tony,” Steve said, and winked up at him. He kissed Tony’s fingers again, then skimmed his own up over Tony’s hips, warm and rough despite his smooth touch, a little sweaty. “So, _Tony_. How are you feeling?”

“Uh,” Tony said, trying to think. “Full?” He rubbed at his forehead. Yeah, really full, genius, Stark, they’d just been talking about that. “Um, stretched.”

Steve didn’t call him on his lack of ability to be even remotely articulate about it, at least. “Are you ready to try moving?” he asked instead. His palm stroked down over Tony’s thigh again.

Oh, right. Moving. Tony’s thighs trembled, and his ass shuddered around Steve’s massive cock, the muscles overstrained and screaming at him.

Moving. “Yeah, sure,” Tony managed to blurt out.

Wait, what was he saying? Oh, well, he could do it. He could handle it. Totally. What were all those deep knee bends and squats for, right? He let his hands slide down Steve’s chest, braced himself against his ribs, and pushed down with his knees, willing his thighs to lift him up.

Luckily, Steve had used a truly ridiculous amount of lube, so he was slick and dripping with it and the slide was easy. Otherwise he never would have been able to lift himself up at all. Steve was just so—so big, and so _decisive_ inside of him, like there was no room for anything else, just Tony aching around him, Steve buried deep inside. The slide made Tony yelp, surprised at how intense it was, the shifting slick slide of pressure past his prostate, the movement against his sensitive rim, the drag and pull of Steve inside even with the lube. His thighs trembled helplessly, and then they just gave out—he couldn’t push himself up any more, no matter how hard he strained, and eventually the strength he’d found somehow to push himself even that far disappeared, and he sank back down on Steve’s cock, choking on the pleasure as he slid back up inside him. Apparently holding himself up long enough to get Steve inside, slowly sinking down on him, had been about all his body was up for.

Up for, haha. Yeah, literally. Tony panted as he ended up where he was before, legs stretched wide and Steve’s thick base stretching him what felt like just as wide open, his half-hard cock heavy against Steve’s pelvis. “S-sorry,” he managed to choke out.

Steve was looking up at him with his eyebrows raised, looking a little bit surprised. “Uh, no, that’s all right, Tony,” he said.

“Legs,” Tony panted. “Uh. Not really. Not really gonna . . . work. For us. Me.” He shrugged. His face felt hot.

“That’s fine,” Steve said.

Tony moaned. He wanted to ride Steve. Or at least, he wanted that big cock inside him doing _something_.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, hand stroking gently over Tony’s thigh, cupping his knee, “I didn’t realize you were that tired.”

“Don’t you dare pull out,” Tony hissed at him. “I told you to _fuck me_ , cupcake.”

Steve smiled. “Okay,” he said. “No pulling out. Got it.” His hands came around, slid under Tony’s thighs, and before Tony knew it, he was lifting him up. The slippery drag of Steve’s cock in him felt incredible, and Tony’s eyes fluttered closed. He could feel the friction of Steve’s cockhead, the fatter tip, against his insides, rubbing over his prostate, and moaned, his lips parting despite himself. Damn, that felt good. Maybe he’d been wrong about his own cock, after all. He opened one eye, looked down at himself, but no, his cock was still stubbornly half hard between his legs.

Oh, well, couldn’t win them all. It still felt so damn good. So _damn_ good.

And then Steve stopped. His cockhead was resting just against the spasming inside of Tony’s rim, just inside him without pulling out. Tony whined, struggled in his hold, but Steve held him fast, didn’t let go. Tony glared at him. “What—what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

Steve’s face was flushed, but he was still grinning, his eyes sparkling. “You look so pretty like this,” he said, voice panting a little and rough, but still with a grin in it, “just look at you. You have such beautiful thighs.”

“Let me down again,” Tony panted himself.

“Not just yet,” Steve said. His thumbs traced small, shivery circles on Tony’s thighs. “I’m enjoying looking at you like this. You should feel the way you’re clenching around the most sensitive part of me.”

Steve didn’t go in for dirty dirty talk, but when he started doing it—damn, he was good at it. He didn’t spice up what he was saying with dirty words or crude slang, he just said what he said the way he would have any other time, blunt and plain, and it always hit with devastating effectiveness, like a punch to the gut.

“S-Steve,” Tony whimpered helplessly. His thighs were straining—it suddenly felt like he felt in the middle of his yoga classes, aching and not quite ready for the stretch, stretched out a little too far.

“Shh,” Steve said. “You can do this, Tony, I’ve got you.”

“Fine,” Tony said, and it came out all shakily, helpless.

Steve beamed at him. “That’s it,” he said. “Good for you. Just trust me, right? Follow my lead. I won’t let you down.”

“Sure,” Tony said, but he knew he’d flushed at that, and had to swallow hard.

Eventually Steve let Tony sink down, collapse against him as Steve’s cock filled him up to the brim again, stretched his hole, used to the smaller width of Steve’s cockhead again, wide and aching all over again. Tony panted against Steve’s chest, until Steve pushed him back up and lifted him again. Tony’s thighs were shaking, straining and stretched, and his hole felt slick and just as stretched and impossibly hot inside, and Steve just did it again, and again, like he’d never get tired of it, smiling up at Tony like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and holding him there until Tony felt like he was about to fall apart, his hole spasming and gripping at Steve’s cockhead and aching for friction where Steve’s cock would have rubbed along his prostate, where he had already pressed him wide open deep inside so he felt so goddamn empty with just the tip of Steve’s cock inside him rather than the whole thing as deep as it could go, had already gone.

Tony felt like he was going to fall apart, but it was exactly what he’d wanted. The manhandling, Steve exercising his physical power—making him feel small and helpless and _owned_ , stretching his ass out wide and making him ache and shudder—it was perfect. His cock filled out, aching and needy, then flagged again, and Steve didn’t pay any attention. Was he actually listening about the Tony coming thing this time?

Eventually Steve let Tony sink down and didn’t move to lift him again, even after a few moments had passed. Tony just let himself sit there, thighs splayed out wide, chest heaving, feeling Steve’s hard, hot, throbbing cock deep inside him like it throbbed with every beat of his pounding heart, making him feel like it was filling him up all the way to his stomach in the best way possible.

Steve pushed himself up on his elbows, then leaned in, took Tony’s chin with his fingers. “Good job,” he murmured, “good work,” and pressed a kiss against Tony’s tired, gasping mouth. “I told you you could do it, didn’t I, Shellhead?”

Tony groaned, let his head loll against Steve’s shoulder, feeling overwhelmed and exhausted already and knowing Steve wouldn’t mind or mock him for it, and Steve grinned and laughed a little, but fondly, pressing his lips in against Tony’s hair.

“Your back’s all sweaty,” he said, and slid his hands down it. “I’m really going to take you now, okay, Tony? You won’t be able to do anything but lie here and take it. Shh.” His hands massaged gently at the small of Tony’s back, and somehow that made Tony shudder, hyper-aware of Steve’s thick length inside him, under the places Steve’s hands touched as they skimmed down to the curve of his ass. “Take me. Is that okay, Tony?”

“Please,” Tony moaned against him. “I’m ready, Steve.”

“You’re still good and slick,” Steve said, and reached down. The touch of his fingertips rubbing against Tony’s rim made Tony choke, pressure and pleasure colliding in his head. Steve pressed a little more, and Tony trembled under it, then he shifted his hand away again. He didn’t touch Tony’s cock. “You can take it.”

“I can,” Tony said, reckless and heady, tongue feeling thick on the words. “I promise, stud, I can.”

“Good,” Steve said, and then he slid both his hands under Tony’s knees, then his arms, and leaned forward, curving his arms under him and lifting him up. Tony gasped in surprise—he hadn’t expected this, being held up in the air like this, his legs spread out wide and dangling over Steve’s biceps—but Steve didn’t stop moving until he was kneeling on the bed himself, suspending Tony in mid-air, still spread out wide on his cock.

“How—how did you even do that?” Tony gasped against Steve’s shoulder.

“You know,” Steve said, laughing, even though he was gasping himself, probably from the way Tony’s body was twitching and squeezing helplessly around him, not sure what to do with the shock and stimulation of being moved like that. “Hold still, sweetheart.”

It was clearly sarcastic, or teasing, anyway, because Tony was almost entirely helpless—he had no leverage at all like this, and Steve had just as clearly done that on purpose. Tony wrapped one arm around the back of Steve’s neck, the other around his shoulder, and then Steve bucked his hips and the first thrust slammed into Tony like a fucking tidal wave. Tony’s cock bobbed, finally fully hard, between them, but Tony barely noticed, didn’t bother to wonder if he’d be able to come. The only thing he could think about was the force of sensation of Steve’s cock in his ass, almost too intense for pleasure as the blunt head slipped past his prostate, catching it on every stroke. His legs jerked in Steve’s grip, his body shaking and shuddering, but Steve had a firm hold on him and didn’t waver one bit, just jerked his hips for the next thrust, and the next, and the next. Tony whimpered, whined, wasn’t sure what sounds he made, as Steve just thrust into him, unyielding and unwavering, again and again, Tony’s own untouched dick spattering precome wetly against Steve’s belly.

It was incredible. Tony lost track of time, lost track of everything but that constant rhythmic pressure inside him, back and forth, battering and overwhelming and perfect. Eventually Steve shifted him, _somehow_ , ridiculously, to one arm, and used the other to come up between Tony’s legs, press in against his perineum. The feel of it, Steve’s strong, callused fingers against that sensitive spot, the pressure on his prostate from the outside coupled with the rigid, pounding heat of Steve’s massive length stretching him out impossibly wide inside him, putting pressure on it from all directions, made Tony cry out, intolerable pleasure arcing through him before Steve pulled his hand away, caught his arm under Tony’s leg again. It had almost felt like an orgasm, except that despite the helpless clenching of Tony’s stomach muscles, he knew he hadn’t come, and either way, Steve just kept on fucking him. It could have been a few minutes, an hour, though Steve never took that long to come, before Steve stuttered in his rhythm, gasping, and pressed his face into Tony’s shoulder, against his neck. He could feel the wet heat of Steve’s breath as he gasped and whined Tony’s name into the bunching muscle at the top of Tony’s shoulder. Tony felt the wet, hot spurt of come inside him, because Steve was so big and came so much and because Tony was so damn focused on it, mostly, and gasped against Steve’s shoulder himself.

“Steve, Steve, honey,” he babbled. “That was so good, you feel so good. Was that good for you? God, you’re perfect, you’re gorgeous.” He ran his hand up and down the back of Steve’s neck. Steve could always use some extra reassurance after he came, especially when Tony wasn’t going to come, too—and he wasn’t, Tony’s dick was half hard and flopping between them again. Steve’s hips were jerking helplessly, though, still jackrabbiting into Tony’s body. His hole felt sore and wet. It was a great first time around the block. Tony could barely think straight, like he’d come, too, but he knew he wanted to stroke the back of Steve’s neck with his palm, pet through his hair with his fingers, whisper praise into his ear.

Eventually Steve stopped moving, sagged against Tony with a sigh, and turned his head so their lips met. Tony leaned into the kiss, welcomed Steve’s soft, orgasm-slack mouth with his own, pulling him into it. Steve hummed, low and soft, and when he did pull away, it took a second for his eyes to blink open again.

“How was that?” he said, smiling a little crookedly. His voice was low and soft, and his cheeks were flushed, very pink, his eyes still glazed and hazy with pleasure. “Was it good? Was it all . . . all right?” His shoulders were shivering under Tony’s hands, and Tony rubbed his thumb against them, gently, trying to soothe those little shudders.

Tony laughed, because it had been so, so good. “Perfect,” he said, and meant it. “Was it good for you, too?”

“Perfect,” Steve said, and kissed the bottom of his chin, against his beard. His breath was hot and ragged against Tony’s sensitive skin. “You feel good, Shellhead.”

“What you were needing?” Tony asked, breathless, and afraid too much of his own neediness came through in it, the trembling need to please Steve, to give him what he needed, to use his own body as a way to assuage whatever aches and troubles plagued his big, brave, selfless heart.

“God, yeah,” Steve said, all sweet, breathless, New York accent, and Tony felt himself smile, soft and wide, couldn’t help it. Steve closed his eyes, leaned his cheek against Tony’s. “How did you know?”

“What’s that?” Tony asked. God, Steve was still holding him up.

“How much it would help,” Steve mumbled. He was still shaking a little, too.

Tony smiled, let his hand run through Steve’s hair again, the other rubbing at his shoulders. “Really, Steve, that’s it?” he said. “I thought we were just getting started.”

“I didn’t say I was ready to stop,” Steve said, laughing a little, sounding a little overwhelmed, a little on the edge of something other than laughing, but not in a bad way. It sent vibrations through Tony’s body from how closely they were connected, leaning against him with Steve’s cock still deep in his ass, and he groaned despite himself. “You said I could just keep going,” Steve murmured. His eyes were bright, his cheeks still so flushed, and it was hard for Tony to look away from him. “If I wanted. I—you still okay with that?”

“S-sure thing, tiger,” Tony managed. He cupped his hand against Steve’s cheek, against his jaw, before he let it fall. It left Steve’s cheek, shining with sweat. “That’s what I want.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and pressed another kiss against Tony’s lips, wet and soft, lingering over them, before he pulled back. Tony wasn’t quite certain what he should be getting ready for, but then Steve slid back, helping gravity pull him down out of Tony, and he surprised himself with the whining groan he gave as Steve pulled back out of him. It seemed to go on a long time, reminding him just how _long_ Steve was as well as thick, shivering through his body as friction rubbed against his prostate and made his cock jerk. It was hard to concentrate on that, though, through the intensity of Steve pulling out of him, the feeling of it over his sensitive flesh and the tender muscle deep inside, of his rim as it fluttered and spasmed, the way it made him feel needy and exposed as his body sucked at the length, tried to keep it inside, the wet sound as Steve finally pulled out and the suction gave.

“Shh, you’re fine,” Steve murmured, and pressed a kiss against his collarbone, against his sternum, wet and messy with tongue and teeth. He had tilted Tony upwards in his hold a moment later, and Tony arched his back, feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed at how he was suspended in midair while some half-conscious part of him reminded him that Steve liked to look at him used and leaking come, that he should help him out, show off for him, however self-conscious it made Tony feel, the idea of Steve’s eyes on his used, wet hole and floppy, half-hard dick. Sure enough, he could feel him looking, a moment later, feel it as come oozed out of him, unable to resist the pull of gravity, or how soft and puffy and worked over Steve’s fucking him had left Tony’s hole. He was sure it would end up much more open and gaping by the time Steve was done with him, and the idea, the feeling of how open and dripping he was already, gave him a strange twist of fear and excitement in his belly. He wasn’t even sure if he liked the idea, just knew that he wanted Steve to do that to him tonight, split him open and leave him wet and wrecked, whether he _liked_ it or not.

He wasn’t surprised when Steve let one of his knees set down on the bed, still holding him up with the other hoisted in midair, and touched the newly puffy, sensitive ring of his hole with careful fingers, sliding one carefully around the tender opening and over the center of it. Tony could feel more come leaking out of him, as if in response, and gasped, couldn’t help himself. It was just so incredibly intense, intimate, beyond sexual, almost, Steve touching what he’d done to him, how raw and tender his dick had left that most private, intimate opening of his body.

It wasn't exactly surprising when Steve pushed that finger into him, either, though Tony couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped him, the feeling of being freshly penetrated somehow even more intense, even when it was just a finger and not a cock, even though Steve’s finger entered much more easily than it had earlier while he was prepping him, that was for sure. He knew his body was trembling in Steve’s hold.

“Are you all right?” Steve murmured.

“Ah,” Tony gasped, before he could think of what he wanted to say, “y-yeah. Yeah.” He was shivering now, he realized. Steve leaned in, pressed a kiss to his shoulder, keeping the finger inside him, before he pulled back to watch as he leisurely slipped it in and out of Tony’s body, rubbing along him inside, the pad of it sliding firm against his sensitive, spasming inner walls. It seemed to push in and out so easily, despite how overwhelming it felt. Tony jerked in Steve’s hold, feeling every inch of his precarious, lopsided position, but he knew Steve wouldn’t let him fall or twist himself up and he—just—

“Shh,” Steve shushed him again, in a low mumble, his eyes fixed on Tony’s hole, and kept rubbing him inside. “You’re just fine.”

“I—I know,” Tony managed, even though his chest was heaving. Steve slid his finger out of him, and circled it around his wet opening, and he could feel more come drip out of his freshly loosened hole, down his thighs, over his balls. He swallowed.

Steve pressed two fingers flat against his opening, and Tony felt very aware of the way he’d swollen slightly, how raw and open he felt, the way he leaked come at the pressure. A few seconds later and both those fingers were inside him again, and he choked on his breath. Steve circled them gently, massaging him inside as soft and gentle as if it was designed to soothe rather than turn him on. Maybe it was. Steve loved something in his ass when they played with _Steve_ surrendering like Tony was now, and maybe this was why; maybe he knew how strangely soothing the touch and pressure could feel. Tony trembled, feeling a warm flush of heat wash over him and down into his neck as he couldn’t help but think how slick and sticky Steve’s fingers had to be getting from his own come. Steve loved playing with come; he had to be loving that. And the fingers, they felt good inside, against him.

Eventually, Steve pulled his fingers out of Tony, and he leaked more, dripping onto the bed, down his thighs when Steve put his other leg down. The position settled him onto his well-fucked ass, one leg bent and the other one splayed out in front of him off to Steve’s side, and Tony jolted, mouth hanging open as he gasped. It wasn’t that he hurt, it was just so damn tender already, and part of him hadn’t quite expected it, even though he’d felt it as Steve was touching him with the gentle pads of his fingers. Steve smiled at him, palm sliding over Tony’s bent knee as he pressed his two come-damp knuckles into his own mouth, sucking at them before he lapped at each damp finger, sucking his own come off the tips—the come that had come from inside Tony’s body. Damn. That was hotter than it should be, considering—considering, well, you know. Tony had cleaned up before he propositioned Steve, obviously, knowing what he planning on asking for and wanting things to be as nice and clean in there as possible for Steve’s convenience, and his own—lack of self-confidence, his own peace of mind, but . . . still. But that was ridiculous, unfairly hot, made need twist even tighter in Tony’s belly, even though he didn’t know why it did.

“It tastes better when it’s been inside you, you know,” Steve said, and smiled at him, that boyish All-American grin.

“How does that work?” Tony muttered, trying to catch his breath somehow, even when it seemed like a lost cause.

Steve shrugged, still grinning. “Dunno,” he said. “Just does. You know I think you taste good.”

“It can’t possibly taste good—in there,” Tony said, and felt his face flushing stupidly. And his come was probably bitter from the coffee he drank, when he even managed to produce any, he thought a moment later, with only a little bitterness.

Steve reached down with his wet fingers, behind Tony’s cock and balls, and rubbed at his perineum again. Tony gasped, found himself arching up into the touch. “I like the way you taste all over, Tony,” he said, then palmed Tony’s balls gently, dragged his hand up over his cock. It felt good, made Tony want to rock his hips forward, against it, and Steve held him gently while he did, let him circle his hips and grind his cock against his palm for a long few moments, before he closed his hand loosely around him again and stroked up, circling over the tip before letting go and bringing his hand up along Tony’s chest, thumbing gently at one nipple, which made Tony shiver, more from the intimacy of it, the feel of Steve’s warm thumb petting against his skin, than any sensitivity in his nipples. “Lie down on your back for me,” he said, and Tony did it without hesitating, letting his head rest near the foot of the bed and spreading his legs so that Steve could see everything between them if he wanted to. “Thank you,” Steve breathed, and stroked his hand down over Tony’s belly. “That’s so good, that’s perfect, thank you, Tony.”

Tony reached down, slid his hand over his own thigh and pulled it to the side, bending his knee and holding himself open, holding his breath for a moment as Steve’s gaze settled between his legs again.

“That’s it,” Steve murmured, “that’s perfect, thank you, you’re beautiful,” and closed his hand gently over Tony’s as if to thank him for the gesture before he cupped Tony’s cock and balls gently in his hand, running his thumb gently over his balls, soft and caressing, before he pushed them up.

The intimacy coupled with the gently matter-of-fact way Steve was handling his privates, just to get them out of the way to expose his hole, made Tony groan. He could feel Steve looking at it again, and felt incredibly exposed, and objectified in a way that made his cock want to harden, like Steve was more interested in him as a hole he could fuck than Tony’s own pleasure. He knew that wasn’t true—Steve was a hell of a lot more concerned about Tony’s pleasure than Tony was, pretty much all the time—but it _felt_ like it, and that felt good. And maybe that was strange, but it worked for Tony. It really did.

“Mmm,” Steve said. “You look so pretty wet and dripping, Tony. Look at that beautiful hole.” He was touching him there again a moment later, and then there were two fingers back inside him. Tony gasped, hard, the jolt going through his entire body as his softened entrance was breached again, and Steve rubbed his thumb gently against his rim without pulling his fingers back out, as if to soothe him.

“A-ah,” Tony said, his hands fisting in the covers, not sure why he suddenly felt so hot in the face. “That’s, uh. That’s.”

“Tender, right?” Steve said. “You look tender.”

“Y-yeah,” Tony managed.

“You’re going to be so much more tender by the time I’m finished,” Steve said, and there was a soft, affectionate smile on his face. “You know you’ll be lucky if you can stand to sit on your raw, cute little rear. Every time you move it’s going to feel like I’m there inside you again.” His thumb circled against Tony’s raw hole again.

Tony let out a long, low groan, couldn’t help it. “I. I hope so, Steve,” he finally managed.

“Well, I’ll try and deliver,” Steve said, quirking his lips, then scissoring his fingers slightly and making Tony want to whimper, toss his head and drag in a harsh breath. “You know, it’s been a long time since we did it like this? A really long time.”

“I know,” Tony murmured. It had been—hell, had to be over a month since their last, abortive attempt that had ended up with Tony tight and locking up with pain, unable to relax. And if Steve meant taking him over and over, more than once . . . well, that they didn’t do very often at all.

“You look good like this,” Steve said, matter-of-factly, and rubbed the pads of his fingers against Tony’s prostate again.

Tony gasped again, panted for breath as an arc of pleasure went through him, sweeping through his cock enough that it twitched against his thigh where it lay half-hard. He moaned as Steve circled his fingers, worked them in there again. It was easy to lose track of time as Steve worked on his prostate, fingers stroking and massaging the sensitive spot until Tony belatedly realized that his own cock was smearing slick pre-come loosely against his skin. When Steve stopped, he was half glad that the overwhelming pleasure thickening his dick and making him ache helplessly for an orgasm had stopped, eased off, even if he still ached for it. It felt so tiring to push it, to try to push past and seek out his own orgasm at this point. After more than a week of trying fruitlessly he felt like he never wanted to feel his own hand on his dick rubbing himself raw ever again, honestly, and while he doubted he could come even from that glorious, coaxing touch on his prostate, it made him buck his hips, made him _want_. “G-glad you like the show,” he managed belatedly.

“Always worth the price of admission,” Steve said, grinning, and shifted his position and bent his head down between Tony’s legs.

Tony felt a moment of alarm, almost afraid that Steve wanted to suck his still hardened cock and try to make him come, that Tony would have to try to make it happen anyway, but then Steve bypassed it, went lower.

Tony still wasn’t used to the idea that Steve actually liked doing this, but his tongue was on Tony’s puffy hole, beside and against his own fingers, before he could do so much as think about it. The soft, slow, warm pressure felt good against the tender skin, and Tony trembled, gasped, shut his eyes, as Steve slowly lapped and suckled around the fingers still buried deep inside Tony’s body. He was cleaning him up, Tony thought, and groaned, licking the come off Tony’s rim and from between his own fingers. He scissored Tony apart, and Tony was almost surprised when he spread relatively easily so that Steve could slip his tongue inside him between his fingers.

It felt good, and he fell into it, holding himself open so that Steve could kiss wetly at his soft damp hole, licking around his fingers and in between them, fingering him at the same time, knuckling gently against his soft places inside. Tony wasn’t sure what to make of how good it felt, except that he _was_ tender, and the touch of Steve’s mouth and tongue was soothing even as it prickled against the sensitized skin. He wasn’t sure how long it lasted before Steve moved away, pressed a kiss against his hip, and pulled his fingers out of him as he let go of Tony’s cock.

“Sweet as candy,” Steve said, and then his hand was on the back of Tony’s neck, bracing gently, big broad fingers at the base of his skull. “Going to want you again,” he said. “If you’re good with that?”

“Yes, sir,” Tony said, opening his eyes and looking up at Steve through eyes that felt glazed even to him, probably heavy and stupid with adoration. “Where?” Steve just smiled at him with his mouth red and shiny from what he’d been—doing, God, thumbing gently against his bottom lip so that Tony suckled at that thumb, his mouth feeling wet and clumsy against Steve’s touch, and then helped him up to his knees. Steve put one hand on the bare curve of his ass as his other hand coaxed him to lean forward against it, shuffle forward on his knees until he could lay both hands on their headboard and hold on, leaning forward to rest his head against it. His hole felt wet and very open, and Tony was very aware of it as he moved, the way the air of the room teased against the wetness Steve’s saliva had left there, felt cold against the hot flesh. Steve was going to fuck him again, Tony thought as he let his forehead rest against his wrist as he hung onto the headboard. He was going to be even more open and hot there soon.

Steve’s hand was on that very spot a few seconds later, pushing finger-warm lube into his body, smearing it around his hole then pressing it inside with both of the fingers he’d used before. Tony shivered, just the thought that Steve was big enough that he thought he still needed more lube making his cock throb again helplessly between his legs. Steve’s other hand came up them, fingers still working in his ass, and cupped Tony’s floppily jerking cock and balls, squeezing lightly. “You know, Tony,” he said, and Tony made a helpless, questioning noise, feeling his cock jerk, harden beneath Steve’s touch, but then soften again after a moment, as Steve kept rubbing him there, playing at the sensitive flesh. “You’ve told me this before,” Steve said, “all the time, and I appreciate that, but I think it goes for you, too. You have an awful pretty cock.”

“Not even hard,” Tony mumbled, feeling the back of his neck heat up, a little self-conscious. He felt very aware of it, suddenly, the limp softness of his cock in Steve’s hand, cupped in his palm and fingers.

“Doesn’t have to be hard to be pretty,” Steve said, and there was a smile in his voice. “I bet you’ll get hard when I take you.” He stroked the base of the shaft, down over Tony’s balls, gently. Tony shivered, rolling his hips into the touch a little, helpless. “You always do, even when you go soft again, you ever notice that?”

Did he? Tony hadn’t really noticed that, no. “I do?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve said, and squeezed his cock gently again. “Remember when I told you I thought you could come from just your pretty rear?”

“I can’t,” Tony said apologetically.

“I know that’s what you think,” Steve said. “But that’s one reason I think different. You stiffen up real good when I’m inside you, every time.”

“Not tonight,” Tony said helplessly. “I can’t—can’t come tonight. Please. Steve—remember what I said—please, honeymuffin—” He couldn’t deal with that. He didn’t want the pressure. Steve might be able to make him come, but if he had to concentrate on that, strain for it—if he had to think about it—if he couldn’t, but knew Steve had wanted it, if he disappointed Steve, after all of this, he’d—he couldn’t—

“Yeah, no,” Steve agreed, still gently fondling and squeezing his cock. “Not tonight. I know, Tony. Is it okay, though? If I touch it?”

“Thank you,” Tony said thickly. "Y-yeah, it's okay. Like I said before. It's okay to, to touch it." It still felt good to have Steve’s hand on his cock, stroking and petting him, almost like he’d been petting and stroking at the inside of Tony’s hole with his fingers earlier. He groaned, spread his legs, let himself arch up into it as Steve played with the tip of him, his crown, between two of his fingers, squeezing and rubbing at the sensitive flesh.

“That feels good, doesn't it, Tony?” Steve murmured against his shoulder blade, mouthing wetly over the skin, and Tony whimpered.

“I-it sure does, sugar,” he murmured.

“Yeah, it does, I bet,” Steve said. His fingers stroked gently down over Tony’s shaft, rubbing in soft, gentle circles that made Tony shudder and moan. He’d never really had anyone touch his cock so gentle and soft, not teasing, exactly, but gentle and slow all the same. “You’ve gone awfully sweet for me, huh?”

“S-sorry,” Tony said. “I—” Steve’s hand was on his cock, his fingers still rubbing along inside him, fingering him wet and open. How was he supposed to think?

“That’s a good thing, Shellhead,” Steve said, sounding fond. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Please,” Tony said helplessly, still trembling, his hips rolling, as Steve fondled at his cockhead.

“If I take you too rough, I want you to give me your color,” Steve said. “No arguments. Yellow, if I’m too rough, okay? Red if you need to stop.”

“Um,” Tony said, trying to think. Yeah, that seemed fair. Probably a good idea. He was so out of it already. He’d probably barely remember his own name by the end of this, if he had any kind of idea of what was coming, of how long Steve could go for. “Colors. Yellow. Yeah. Okay.”

Steve pressed a soft kiss against the round of Tony’s shoulder, then his hand left his cock, smoothed down his thigh. “How rough can I be, Tony?” he murmured hot against the flesh of his neck.

“Rough,” Tony said. He took in a hot, hard breath and felt it catch on his throat, raw, had to swallow. “Hard. I want you to—hard, Steve. I’m already slick and open, honeybunch. I—I want to feel it all.”

Steve’s hand came up, carded through the hair on the side of Tony’s head. He pressed a kiss against his ear. “I want to enjoy you like this,” he said. “You’re still going to be tight, but not the tight little vise you are normally. You’re going to feel just perfect. But later on, mister, when you’re open and wrecked for me, I’m going to pound you into the bed.”

“Fuck me until I can’t,” Tony panted, “can’t move. Please.” Until he couldn’t think. Until there was nothing left. Just Steve. Whatever Steve wanted.

“I will, Tony,” Steve promised, and his wet fingers slipped easily out of him. There was another squelch of lube, and the next thing that prodded at his wet hole was blunt and hot and wide, so wide even now there was a moment where Tony wondered if he could take him, spread his knees apart on the bed and gasped helplessly. He held onto the headboard, feeling his fingers curl in against the wood, as Steve eased into him, slow, then fucked back and forth once or twice, like he was setting up a rhythm, before he started up in earnest. It wasn’t exactly fast, but it wasn’t slow, either. Steve’s hands were on his hips, holding him tight but not digging in, and the sounds were wet as Steve fucked in deep and then back out of him. Every thrust slid deep and long and slow over his prostate again, and Tony heard himself making breathless, punched out, gasping noises like his voice belonged to someone else. The helplessness was different like this—he was anchored, not bobbing in midair with every thrust of Steve’s hips, but the way he needed to grip the bed for support, head against his arm, the way he swayed on his knees and needed them biting into the bed to steady himself, the helpless jerking of his cock between his legs as Steve fucked into him, all made him feel overpowered, captured beneath Steve’s big, strong form behind him, inside him, helpless to do anything but take it. Exactly how he wanted to.

Steve’s cock felt _so big_ inside of him, huge and blunt and hot, even as it slipped and slid easily along, all wet, soft sounds as Steve fucked him. Tony swayed with every thrust, surprised when he looked down to find that Steve was right, and his cock was stiff, standing at attention between his legs. Steve ignored it, though, letting it slap against Tony’s pelvis and groin without a word, and Tony was grateful. He didn’t want to worry about whether it could cooperate or not. Didn’t want to worry about his own cock at all. Steve’s was enough, deep and hot inside him.

It was even easier to fall into it like this, to enjoy the pace Steve had set. Tony tried to squeeze down on him a bit, in rhythm with Steve’s thrusts, and was rewarded by a ragged groan and Steve’s forehead falling forward against the back of his neck. “G-good?” he managed to stammer.

“Really good,” Steve said, his voice deep and hot and rough, and Tony groaned happily, let his hips sway back as Steve thrust into him again, clenching down around him as best he could. Every thrust rubbed Steve deep over that spot inside, even more intense as Tony clenched down on him, but somehow instead of making him want to chase his own orgasm, it just felt, good, natural, to feel pleasure as he made Steve groan and gasp and thrust deeper into him, pleasure that filled him up warm and hot at the same time Steve filled him. This was good. This was what he’d been—been needing, something like this, taking his mind out of himself completely, without worrying about his own pleasure or need to come, because it was so intense, and—whether there was pleasure almost didn’t really even matter, it was how it felt otherwise, somehow, Steve behind him, around him, inside him, and Tony’s body scrambling to accept and open and catch up and it didn’t even really matter if it did. Steve’s mouth smeared, wet, hot against the back of his neck, and Tony groaned, whimpering a little as Steve’s cock dragged over his prostate again, arched his head back instinctively as Steve continued to thrust hard into him.

Tony wasn’t sure how much longer it took, but even as lost in sensation, gone on it as he was, he had a sort of sense for how close Steve was to coming. Steve was panting against his neck now, making the sweet little gasping hitching noises Tony recognized so well. He closed his eyes and let himself just—feel it, the way Steve sped up, the way his hips stuttered against Tony’s ass, the breathlessness of the way his chest heaved against Tony’s back, the throbbing heat of Steve’s length inside him until he finally came, and Tony could feel it as his cock twitched and pulsed inside him. Steve always came hard, Tony wasn’t sure how much it had to do with the serum, but he could always feel the sudden hot gush of fluid against his walls inside, as if Steve’s dick got that extra bit harder, bigger; this time it felt incredibly intense, and he gasped wetly against his own wrist. Steve rocked back and forth, riding out his orgasm, sliding wet inside Tony through his own come, and Tony moaned, couldn’t help it, feeling himself go hot in the face as Steve rolled his cheek against his neck, pressed kisses along his neck and shoulders. Steve’s arms came around him, hands running over his belly, his chest, and Steve left a messy kiss just under his ear. Tony shuddered, shuddered harder and moaned when Steve thrust in him again, as if not really chasing anything but working out the last remnants of his pleasure. “Shh,” Steve murmured, “oh, Tony, Tony,” and Tony bent his head as Steve kissed along the back of his neck, just under his hairline. He wondered, vaguely, if Steve would just stay in him like that until he got hard again, but then Steve was running his hand through Tony’s hair, leaving one hand on the top of his head as he moved back, started to pull out.

Tony moaned. It felt even more vivid and intense than it had last time, that big, heavy, rigid weight inside him pulling out while his body shuddered and clenched and tried to keep it inside. The suction was weaker than last time, he could feel it, could hear the wet noises as his muscles fluttered and shivered and clenched all out of his control, Steve’s girth and heaviness as he tugged out over the tender, over-sensitized flesh of Tony’s rim, every inch of him, heavy and hard, and Tony couldn’t think. He heard the wet sound as Steve finally pulled away and whimpered as he felt his muscles flutter and clench helplessly inward, could feel how he was left open with the loss of Steve. He gaped a little after Steve took him once, even, and he could feel how worked over his muscles felt. He could feel cold air inside, felt wet and messy and knew he had to be oozing dribbles of Steve’s come, helpless to stop it, and felt his face heat even more. He knew Steve liked him like this, messy and helpless with it and open, but he couldn’t help the embarrassment, the hot confused thrill of shame in his chest, at the thought of being fucked so open he couldn’t clench down, of his muscles being fucked literally to submission, being fucked open and gaping and soft for Steve, and how there was nothing he could do to hide it. When he tried to clench shut or squeeze his muscles tried to obey but gave helpless twitches, probably just winking at Steve and pushing more come, warm and wet and oozing, out of him in a lazy stream. On his knees like this, gravity helped to pull it down out of him, and he could feel it against his balls, wet on his thighs.

“Mmm,” Steve said, and his thumb was there, brushing over Tony where he’d been left open, and the tender skin was exquisitely sensitive, making Tony moan and shudder, legs twitching. “That’s so pretty, Tony,” Steve said, his voice still thick, husky and low with sex. Tony moaned again. Steve pressed his thumb over Tony’s open hole again, not inside, almost a caress but too firm for that, and Tony gasped, ached, head coming up against the unfamiliar feeling. It was so strange, so _much_ , Tony feeling so sensitized, so raw and so open under his thumb, the strange softness and openness of flesh that was usually tight and closed and clenched against a touch. He could feel come leak out of him against Steve’s thumb, and it made his face hot, his ears, the back of his neck, even as he hoped Steve liked it. Steve liked that, a lot, seeing him well-fucked, overflowing with his come, the rosy dark fucked-open ring of his hole, come white against it, and if Steve liked it—well, he could have it, even if it made Tony feel hot and self-conscious.

Steve rubbed his thumb over Tony’s hole again, then it pressed just above it, under his tailbone, and Tony choked. It was a strange thing to feel, that firm touch, almost invasive but in a way he welcomed, and he could feel himself dribble more come even as Steve slid two fingers into him. He was held open, scissored wide, at first, could feel come ooze out between Steve’s fingers, but then Steve brought them back together and pushed them deeper inside him until Tony was gasping, choking on the strange raw intensity of the sensation, how penetrated and pinned he felt despite the fact that two of Steve’s fingers were about half the size of his cock.

“You’re so hot inside,” Steve murmured, almost whispered, sounding almost awed. “Like you heat up in there from the friction of it. Are you raw, Tony?”

Tony nodded, then shook his head, not sure how to answer. “Yes,” he finally managed. “Yes, but—but not bad raw.” It didn’t _hurt_ ; Steve had kept him too well lubricated for chafing, so he wasn’t exactly sore, at least not just then. “Just—sensitive. Like every touch is—is times fifty.”

“That should make the next time interesting for you,” Steve said with fond amusement in his voice, amusement and—it was like a sense of . . . of mastery, that however it felt Tony would be there, taking it, and Steve wouldn’t let him off the hook, despite the soft affection there in his tone with it, and that more than anything made Tony moan, whimper, made his cock twitch helplessly between his legs. Steve flicked his fingers against Tony’s prostate, made him stiffen and cry out, and then pressed a kiss to Tony’s shoulder and rubbed his fingers over it, inside him, again and again. Tony whimpered, moaned, let his head hang down between his arms as his knees went weak and he sank down a little, back bowing forward helplessly. Steve’s hand moved with him, fingers staying right there. “Yeah, see?” Steve said, still rubbing that place inside and making Tony moan and roll his hips, helpless against the pleasure. “You like that, huh? My fingers inside you even after my cock’s been in there twice? You always like my fingers, I guess. You ride them so pretty, Tony, always.”

There was a—something about it, Steve’s fingers so commanding, the way it claimed Tony in a different way than Steve’s cock, the control in them as they rubbed at Tony’s prostate and made him twitch and tremble and ache, panting in pleasure, that—yeah, it was good. It was dizzyingly good, and made Tony feel more submissive, more _taken_ and _owned_ than he had in a long, long time. But it was in a good way, it was always in such a good way, with Steve, because he wanted this, he wanted Steve to own him. And—and keep him, enjoy his body, wanted him to like how Tony gave it up for him and want to—to—Tony wasn’t sure, because all he could think was the words _keep him_. Yeah, he wanted that.

“At my mercy,” Steve said. “God, you’re all soft and wet inside. Aren’t you, Stark?” His fingers circled slowly over Tony’s prostate.

“Yeah, honey,” Tony mumbled. “Always am. At—at your—” Even when he topped, even when he was the one to take Steve apart, until Steve was soft and overwhelmed in his arms—yeah. Tony was at Steve’s mercy. It almost hurt, how true that was.

Steve kissed that spot behind his ear again, soft and sweet, and Tony shuddered under him. “Thank you, Tony,” Steve murmured, soft and real, and Tony almost whimpered, felt how hot his face was. He was probably red, bright red, and he almost never blushed. “You’re so sweet when you give it up for me like this,” Steve said a moment later, still in that whispering tone, and sounded almost awed.

“My ass is yours,” Tony mumbled. His whole body, all the time; Steve could do anything to him that he wanted, anything he wanted at all. Tony wasn’t thinking, had no idea what Steve might want to do to him, but he was sure he was on board with it if Steve was. And how many people in his bed had he _ever_ trusted like that? Ever, in his life? In bed or out of it?

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said, again, in a soft low voice, and damn, how did he sound so incredibly sincere when he was responding to something like _that_? Tony’s face had to be so red by now as he felt another flush of heat, and the back of his neck felt hot. He hoped Steve wasn't noticing that. He shivered uncontrollably as Steve shifted his fingers inside him. His thumb came up, stroked over Tony’s skin, over his tailbone, just above where Steve had his fingers deep inside Tony’s ass, and Tony moaned. Steve kept stroking, touching, until Tony was trembling, and then his other hand came up and cupped Tony’s cock, curling around his balls and squeezing gently before he moved up to the shaft. Tony gave a moan, almost cried out, as the pleasure, strange and hot as if his body was confused after everything Steve had already given him, shot to his groin, all over his body hot and tingling, which was strange, like every touch there went all over him, under his skin.

Anal did weird things to Tony’s brain, that was for sure, like every nerve ending was more sensitive, and now the touches to his cock seemed to set him off all over, too. He wondered if it felt really different, if you came from stimulation to your ass rather than your cock. He never had, didn’t think he could, but—still, he wondered how that would feel. Maybe it would feel like less pressure to—to perform? He didn’t know. Steve’s fingers still felt good, inside, against his sweet spot, even as he stroked Tony’s cock, gentle and slow with palm and fingers against his shaft. Steve wanted him to, he knew. Come from prostate stimulation someday. Tony wished he would, wished he _could_ , for him.

His cock was hardening in Steve’s hand, though it wasn’t all the way yet. Steve didn’t seem to mind, just kept stroking it, rubbing his thumb against the sensitive places just under the head until Tony whimpered. “Shh,” Steve murmured. “Just touching you, just making you feel good. No need for you to come, no need for you to do anything, you don’t even need to get hard for me, just kneel here and let me touch you. Okay, Stark?”

“Yeah,” Tony breathed, on a moan. “Yeah, that’s okay. That’s fine, honey, that’s fine.” He felt very warm, warm in the face, overheated. That—that was perfect, that was exactly what he’d wanted. He could do that.

“Good,” Steve murmured. “You know, I like touching you when you’re half-hard.”

“You do?” Tony muttered. Seriously? Why in hell would he like that?

“Yeah, I do,” Steve said. Simple honesty. “It feels different.” He squeezed Tony’s cock gently, and Tony gasped, ass fluttering against Steve’s fingers as his body tried to clench up and stiffen up and failed, mostly. “It makes me feel like you’re—I don’t know, more vulnerable to me, somehow?” His thumb ran gently over the tip of Tony’s cock, and Tony felt the smear of fluid beneath it. He might not have been fully hard, but his cock was wet and leaking a little with desire, as stupid and confused as his body was.

“And you like that,” Tony mumbled. It was true. Tony was vulnerable to him like this, the truth of it rang through his whole body, his whole— _soul_ , making his face hot, the back of his neck burning.

“Yeah,” Steve said, and there was a smile in his voice now, Tony could hear it, “I like that.” His lips brushed over the back of Tony’s neck where it felt so flushed and overheated, and Tony trembled. “You know that, Tony,” he said, “jeez. I like _seeing_ you.”

Tony shivered under him. The truth was, it was still hard for him sometimes to believe it, that Steve would actually like it if Tony just laid here, trembling himself to pieces in Steve’s control, that Steve would want a man who might just lie here and let Steve do—whatever rather than taking charge and working hard to give Steve everything, the way Steve deserved. Tony had tried to, taught himself to, become a very, very good lover, always attentive, always thinking of his partner’s preference, always giving them what they wanted, always _working_ for their pleasure, and to be passive in bed, even if it was so that Steve could use him however he wanted, felt strange. Not bad strange, not at all, God, but—almost selfish. Since he enjoyed it so much himself. Like it was just getting pleasure he—he hadn’t earned.

It wasn’t how a man, uh, made love, Dad would have said. To give in. Like that. Except that Howard wouldn’t have said “made love.”

Ugh. Gross. Why did he have to think things like that, when he was in bed with Steve and everything was great?

He’d gone soft in Steve’s hand again—big surprise—but Steve didn’t comment on it, just kept stroking him the same way, inside and out, until Tony was trembling with it, leaning his forehead against his arm and gasping. He was so grateful, so damn grateful, that Steve was listening to him about the orgasm thing this time. It was one of the only issues they’d had, with sex, up until this point, other than Tony being chronically too tight to take Steve’s cock easily, and finding enough time to have sex period. Tony felt so incredibly lucky that they’d been so easily compatible—he’d pined over Steve for his entire adult life, and then when they finally got together somehow, they fit together even in bed? Steve didn’t mind when Tony wanted to get passive, he _enjoyed_ it, taking Tony hard, owning him like that, making Tony take it how he wanted it, and when Tony wanted to top, to drive, to make Steve see stars from pleasure, Steve was all about that, too, loved being on the receiving end, gave himself over to it completely, let himself ache for it, inside and out, go quivering and needing and lax beneath a push. Tony had never met someone who liked to play with power dynamics like that who switched between them as easily and seamlessly as Steve did; he knew they existed, but he’d never slept with someone like that before, not like how Steve did it. Steve liked topping, and he liked bottoming. He liked being in control, and he liked losing control, and since Tony liked both too . . . he didn’t think he’d have been able to be like this for Steve, so helplessly passive and receptive, if he didn’t drive the bus sometimes, too, and somehow it felt like Steve got that, completely. Control issues, Tony knew, but—well, Steve didn’t give him a hard time for it, that was the thing.

But Steve had wanted Tony to come every time, to enjoy it as much as he did, and it had taken a long time and some painful conversations to get him to see that well, first of all, Tony’s cock was _never_ going to enjoy an encounter as much as Steve’s did, he was only human, and second, he was only human and his circulation had been through a lot, and that, honestly, Tony didn’t mind not coming, not anymore. In fact, he kind of liked it, in that weird way that twisted sideways in his belly, though it was convenient that Steve was a guy who liked topping because at times like this with a woman, or anyone else with a vagina, Tony would either be bottoming for a pegging or reduced to using his mouth and fingers alone, which, though he was good with them and a lot of people preferred that, would have been, somehow, a lot more embarrassing.

There had been that whole time he was paralyzed, after all, and he hadn’t even been able to feel if he was getting hard or not, even when he was, and he hadn’t been able to come, really, because even if he got off and saw semen splash against his own thighs, he hadn’t been able to feel it the same way, but it had still felt good. To be touched. He hadn’t been with Steve then, not yet, not like this, anyway, but Jim had lent him a hand a few times, made Tony moan for it, and—well. It had been strange, strange as hell, but it had felt good. And yet, when Tony had been with a woman, after that, when he’d struggled to get hard it had felt humiliating, horrendously so, just awful, nothing like he felt now, with Steve’s hand on his soft cock sending strangely pleasurable twitches of hot humiliated . . . something through him, but not _actually_ humiliated, not in a bad way. Maybe it was because Tony had always wanted to please a girl, when he was with her, ever since his first time with a woman when he was fifteen, and having a soft cock seemed to proclaim that he couldn’t, not the _right_ way, the way he should, because he was a man and—he didn’t know. Just that he was fine with this, with Steve, and he didn’t mind not coming, and he was just so grateful that Steve seemed to be getting it and to be using Tony like he wanted him to, taking, even holding and fondling Tony without any goal in mind this time, and that felt good.

Tony was weird, he knew that, but at least Steve was weird, too, in his own way, and Steve didn’t seem to mind, even enjoyed it, he thought, as Steve stroked his thumb up and down Tony’s shaft, sliding his fingers down to rub in light strokes against the base of Tony’s cock, just above his balls. He could feel himself hardening up again, a little, balls tightening and his shaft lifting up above them, but Steve didn’t mention it. Didn’t mention a thing. “I—I guess I do,” Tony finally managed. “You like me all submissive and laid out for you, don’t—don’t you, honeymuffin?”

“Mmm,” Steve said, sounding almost self-conscious, and Tony wondered if he was blushing as Steve kissed the back of his neck again. His own neck felt so hot he couldn't really tell if Steve's skin felt warm or flushed against it, but sounded like Steve was blushing, somehow, in his voice.

“Giving it all up for you,” Tony added in a soft murmur that was all he could get out evenly when Steve’s fingers were still deep inside him, rubbing circles over his prostate, and his hand was still on his cock. “Vulnerable and at your mercy and you, you _know_ you could do anything you want with me.”

“Because you’d let me,” Steve murmured, and his voice was thick, deep and husky, and his fingers pressed in firmly against Tony’s prostate, then off, hard again, then softening, in a quick rhythm that made Tony cry out.

“Ah!” he gasped. “A-ah. Yes. Steve. Because I’d let you. I’d let you do a-anything to me. Anything at—at all. Anything you want.” His voice sounded wrecked, thick and husky too.

“Oh, Tony,” Steve murmured, “aren’t I lucky?” and kissed the top of his spine, so damn sweetly that Tony felt his eyes prickling and gasped against his own arm again. He didn’t feel like Steve was lucky at all, to have him and his broken, defective body and heart, but if Steve did—Steve did.

“I’m lucky,” he managed to gasp, without it sounding too ragged, too much like a sob.

“Well, then, lucky us,” Steve said, all soft and breathy, and pressed his fingers in against Tony’s prostate again. He kept the rhythm up for a while, still stroking Tony’s cock gently, and Tony wondered if the movements of Steve’s fingers in and out of his lax, messy hole were covering Steve’s hand with his own come, because he could still feel himself wet and leaking around them, and—and Steve would probably enjoy that, his own come trickling out of Tony’s well-fucked ass and down over his fingers as he fingered Tony into incoherence.

Tony _was_ incoherent when Steve pulled his fingers out of him (he felt come dripping out of him, down to the bed between his thighs), swiped them over his wet hole and making him gasp and shudder at the sensitizing touch, then wiped them on Tony’s hip, and said, “I’m going to take you again,” just a second before his hands were both on Tony’s hips and he was pushing into him all over again.

It hadn’t been that long, but Steve probably had never even gone really soft, Tony knew that. It felt incredibly—intense, incredibly vivid, as Steve pushed into him firmly and quickly, claiming him, making Tony feel like Steve was lighting him up from the inside out as he slid over each and every helplessly tender, helplessly sensitized millimeter of his internal passage, stretching Tony wider, velvet-rigid steel heat over slick wet shudders as Tony heaved out his breaths. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt anything so intense in bed before, not pleasure, even, really, just the intensity of Steve pushing into him, all at once, until he could feel Steve’s balls brush against him and knew he was all the way in and _felt_ him inside and it had been so quick and easy and he felt so thick, Steve felt so thick, but it had barely hurt at all despite the vivid bright heat and sensation from every inch of his insides, felt Steve’s weight and width inside, and Tony panted against his arm and it came out whimpery.

“You feel so good,” Steve breathed out, and his damp fingers patted at the small of Tony’s back, stroked him there with his palm, then his fingers. “Just letting me inside. I got all the way in in just one stroke, Tony, you feel that? That’s how open and slick you’ve gotten. For me. Open for me. Wow.”

Tony moaned, because Steve didn’t fit inside him that easily, that was the _thing_. He always had to work for it, push himself in centimeter by centimeter while Tony struggled and worked with him to ease him inside, trying to bear down and force his muscles to relax—but not now. That was how open and well-fucked Tony was _already_. Steve could just slip into him, in one easy push, and he was only going to get more so, more wrecked, more open. He was going to be _ruined_ , and Steve was going to fuck him so well, so much, until he couldn’t even think—

Tony spread his legs and arched his back, letting his head hang down between his arms as he offered himself up to be taken.

And Steve did take him, there was no slow pace this time. Instead there was a determined, relentless fucking that rocked Tony forward with every thrust, every thrust that would have knocked Tony forward enough to slide him right off Steve’s cock, slick and open and wet and weak in the knees as he was, except that Steve was holding his hips pinioned, clenching them tight, so there was no way that Tony could slip off or away. He was going to be fucked, and Steve was going to fuck him, and there was nothing he could do about it, about any of it, and he loved it. Steve’s fingers were tight enough to bite into Tony’s hips, bruising tight, and Tony moaned in pleasure at that, glad of it, wanting more, wanting bruises he could brush his fingers over the next day and the day after that and remember, big flashy ones on his hips that would get him stares if for any reason anyone else saw him stripped down, that would ache just a little in the morning as he slipped a lacy pair of panties on over them and thought of Steve and how much he liked to see Tony with his balls and cock caught up in revealing, tantalizing lace under his slacks and suits. Maybe Steve would be there to touch him and tease him in the morning, too, touching his hole, his cock, slipping his fingers under the lace to finger and tease and touch, and Tony would go to work still feeling like he was his, bruised and sore inside and out and caught in lace that would make Steve hot and breathless if he saw it, with big ostentatious finger-shaped bruises under it over his hips.

Every stroke of Steve inside him, every thrust, was still so intense, just as intense as the one before against his raw, trembling body, and Steve didn’t slow down, even as Tony moaned and trembled. He kept at it, hard, one intense, vivid, world-altering thrust after another, until the whole room was swimming in front of Tony’s eyes and he didn’t know which way was up and which was down, and Steve was fucking him even harder, and he thought his mouth might be open and he might be making embarrassing catching whimpery moaning noises and high-pitched whines and breathy groans all over the place but couldn’t even care, or even really tell, over the noise in his ears, the roaring from how hard Steve was taking him and how sensitive he felt inside. Steve thrust into him until he came, and Tony felt the wet gush of heat inside him, felt himself get wetter and slicker inside, and his cock throbbed helpless and pointless between his legs even as Steve stilled against him, pressing his chest to Tony’s back. Wet come slid down, leaked out of him beneath and around Steve’s cock, and Tony whimpered. Steve’s hand came up, palmed at Tony’s cock, tugged on his balls, but didn’t stay, just felt at him and dropped away again. Tony moaned, and Steve’s fingers slid down his thigh, pressed into it, and gripped. Tony panted, his mouth open, feeling wet, like there was saliva all over his lips. There probably was.

Steve’s hands came up, detached Tony’s from the headboard and squeezed, and then he was sitting back, tugging Tony over him, his cock still buried inside his body. He pulled one of Tony’s arms back behind him, the other going around his chest, holding him over his stomach, until Tony was stretched out over him, and his head naturally tipped back against Steve’s shoulder because there was nowhere else for it to go. He was held lopsided, spread out over Steve, exposed with the way Steve was holding his arm back behind him and making sure of it, even as Steve shifted enough to bring up one knee and make sure Tony’s legs were spread wide, thighs falling open over the lines of Steve’s. Then he rolled his hips, bounced them a bit, and Tony realized Steve was still hard, deep inside him. He groaned. It almost sobbed in his throat. He felt so overwhelmed. His chest was heaving, gasping.

“There’s a good boy,” Steve murmured against his neck, and Tony felt himself flush again, helplessly, at that, at being called _boy_ , _good boy_ , Steve thought he was good but—and—but _boy_ , really, it wasn’t humiliating, quite, but—and—and Steve laid a kiss there, nibbling against him, licking his tongue over the tendon there, biting lightly just behind his ear. His voice was husky and thick when he spoke again, heavy and gasping. “Give it up for me, Tony, let me have you again. You’re good for it, aren’t you?”

“Always,” Tony moaned, slurred, his mouth wet and not responding to his commands, hanging open. “Always, Steve. Whatever you want.”

“You sure are sweet,” Steve said, and kissed his neck again, his jaw, and started rolling his hips all over again with Tony stretched out over him, helpless, and Steve murmured, “So, so damn sweet, Tony, that’s it.” He could feel Steve’s cock inside him getting even thicker and harder as Steve rocked it into the soft wet grasp of his body, the weak, welcoming pressure of Tony’s inner walls and muscles. Tony moaned and let himself go limp and pliant over him, letting Steve have him, just as he’d asked. His head was lolling back and forth even as he tried to tuck it in against Steve’s neck, and he couldn’t seem to get a deep breath.

“Look at yourself,” Steve muttered, even though there was the strain of desire in his voice. He palmed his hand over Tony’s stomach, the treasure trail that led down to his neatly trimmed pubic hair, his cock. “I want you to see yourself while I’m inside you.” His voice was hoarse and thick and ragged with sex, husky and thick in a way Tony had never heard it, and Tony looked down because Steve wanted him to, even though the idea made him feel hot and lightheaded with that same weird, exciting twist of humiliation deep in his belly. Deep enough in his belly that it would be around where Steve’s cock was, or that was what it felt like, Tony thought, a little lightheaded and strange with it as he looked down and saw himself spread out over Steve, legs splayed wide, one knee folded but both thighs spread obscenely, wide open in a way that Tony could only think to describe as _wanton_ , Steve’s knee tucked beneath one of them to keep it spread and making him look smaller in comparison, his flushed, heaving belly wet with sweat, Steve’s hand pink and pale against Tony’s more olive skin tone, his dark nipples with their wide areolas peaked and standing up with arousal, quivering, like his cock wasn’t, still half hard against his own thigh, leaking wetness and precome despite the soft bend in it. Steve reached down with the hand on Tony’s belly and weighed his balls in his hand, and Tony gasped, choked, watched as Steve swiped a thumb over them. See, those were tight, sensitive as Steve touched him, like he was hard as nails, but somehow his dick hadn’t gotten with the program, for whatever goddamn reason, and felt loose and limp against the brushes of Steve’s fingers.

Steve ran his short thumbnail over Tony’s tight balls, making him gasp and whimper, then palmed his cock. Tony’s legs quivered, the one that was lying stretched out with Tony’s heel against the bed twitched and kicked slightly without his permission. “See?” Steve said. “Isn’t that a pretty sight?” He thumbed gently over the wet head of Tony’s cock and brought his hand back up to stroke at Tony’s belly. The touch somehow made him feel shivery inside, his body strange and heavy and—full, uncooperative, made him feel like he was melting beneath Steve’s commanding touch, not hard, not demanding, but making Tony feel owned, entirely his, all the same.

Tony groaned, still looking down at himself. He looked small compared to Steve despite his height, slim through the hips and compact, somehow, and like this his body looked debauched, mastered, not his own. Just as owned as he felt. He breathed out, chest heaving, through his nose. Steve stroked his belly, gently, still rolling his hips and shifting his cock inside Tony’s exquisitely sensitized body, making him gasp and twitch and rock his hips and gasp out breathily, every movement like a shock from a live wire, like it was turning him inside out, as gentle as Steve’s thrusts were. His thighs spasmed and trembled as Steve gently, gently used his ass and held him still for it. Tony squeezed his eyes shut and looked away, and Steve kissed his jaw again. “Good boy,” he murmured. “Good boy for looking.” He palmed, stroked Tony’s cock again with his fingers.

Tony didn’t always like to look at himself naked, especially during sex with Steve, and he flushed, deep and impossibly hot, at the obvious indication that Steve had noticed that little insecurity. He was still stroking Tony’s cock, fucking him nice and slow without pulling out, like he was grinding inside Tony’s ass, fingers teasing on Tony’s shaft the whole time.

“Such a good boy,” Steve told him, voice heavy and hot and deep, a few moments later, and held off teasing and torturing Tony’s half-erect cock to slide his hand up and squeeze Tony’s nipple with forefinger and thumb. Tony gasped, almost choked, shocked at how much more feeling that brought along with it now that he was warmed up and aroused, and Steve smiled against his neck and squeezed it again, playing with it gently. The way Tony’s body reached to that arousal, rippling and trembling, made him clench down on Steve’s cock as much as was going to happen, and the vivid, hot, overwhelming sensation exploded all through his body. When he came down from it, partly, panting, could think again, somewhat anyway, Steve was gasping, panting a little, but still gently running his thumb over Tony’s nipple, soft and tantalizing, and Tony moaned, tucked his face in against Steve’s neck and trembled.

Steve squeezed his nipple again, and Tony’s body squeezed in on itself with it and trembled and arched, and the sensation slammed through him just like it had the first time. Tony whimpered, whined, would have cried out but it was too overwhelming, so he just ended up gasping out weak little whimpers and cries and soft gasps into Steve’s neck as he did it again and again and Tony just shook over him, made weak and helpless by the feeling and the way Steve felt inside him as his nipple grew raw and even more sensitized moment by moment, squeezing pinch by squeezing pinch. When Steve ran his thumb over that nipple again and slid his hand back down over Tony’s belly, the nipple felt hot and sensitive, a throbbing peak standing out from his chest as if it throbbed in time with his balls and cock, with his heart in his chest, the same way his insides felt hot and throbbing around Steve’s cock, like he could feel his heartbeat there, too, in every weak, aching squeeze and flutter they gave around Steve inside him. Tony pried his eyes open again and looked down at his chest, disbelieving, half expecting his nipple to look red and throbbing like it felt, but even though both nipples were peaked and more than a little flushed, it was hardly obvious what Steve had been doing to it, though it looked a little more swollen and puffy than the other.

Steve smiled against his neck again and his hand came up and toyed gently with the other nipple, making Tony gasp and shake. He moaned almost accusingly and Steve kissed his neck, still smiling. “I noticed it a while ago,” he said. “When you’re already hot for it, your nipples are a lot more sensitive.” He circled his thumbnail around the areola, and Tony moaned, arched over him, his hips jerking helplessly, which made Steve feel even more hot and hard inside him, set off that impossible wave of sensation again until Tony was gasping and thought there might be actual tears in his eyes. Steve grunted, his chest feeling hot against Tony’s back, and thrust into him, once, twice, a few times, fucking into him wildly for a moments until his hips stilled, and Tony was left a whimpering wreck of sensation with tears in his eyes, and Steve’s hand came up to pet his thumb gently over his nipple again. Tony bit his lip against the most pathetic, breathy whimpering noise he’d made yet, and yet it still escaped him. “You have such pretty nipples,” Steve said, hoarse and breathy. “I love how they look on you.” His thumb smoothed gently over the areola.

“You do?” Tony mumbled. His mouth felt slow and wet and the words were wobbly and slurred. He looked down at his chest again, at his nipples. Steve liked them? He lifted his own hand and squeezed the one Steve was neglecting, brushed his thumb over it, pushed it up so he could get a better view, even as it made him shiver and shake. They didn’t look that good, did they? Too wide and brown, and not as pretty as Steve’s pink, flushed peaks that were redder at the tips and the pretty way they heaved with his pecs when he was aroused, hot and wanting it.

“Course I do,” Steve said. He rubbed his thumb over the one he was teasing again. “So pretty, warm, and brown, and wide, and they flush that pretty dark rose color and perk up so plump and needy when I’m inside you, like they’d like my mouth on them.” He squeezed the fingers of his other hand on Tony’s wrist, teased gently around the peak with one finger as the tips of his fingers on the other hand dug into Tony’s wrist, pressed in against the bone just enough that it didn’t quite hurt, not exactly. Tony’s nipples both throbbed as Steve’s finger nudged at the sensitive skin of that one so gently. “They do, don’t they? Want my mouth on them when I’m inside you?”

“I—I don’t know,” Tony mumbled. He pushed the other one up a little more, thought about it, then let his hand fall, down over his chest, rest on his thigh. He’d never really thought about it too much. Steve was the one with the sensitive nipples, right?

“Well, I know,” Steve said, still sounding like he was smiling as he squeezed Tony’s nipple again. “But I’ll just have to give that to you later, won’t I, Mr. Stark?” He brought his hand up, stroked lightly at Tony’s neck, under his sweaty hair, pushed another sweaty curl of it back behind Tony’s ear.

“Whatever you want,” Tony mumbled, and turned his face away, toward Steve’s hand, feeling hot and strangely embarrassed. Steve gave a warm sort of laugh and kissed Tony’s neck again.

“Thank you, Tony,” he said with that sincerity, sincerity that made his voice feel like warmth and softness against Tony’s skin. Tony made a noise, not sure why or what he wanted to say, but Steve just nodded and kissed the back of his neck, then his fingers brushed over Tony’s jaw, thumb sliding along his lower lip. Tony pursed it to kiss it, kissed at it gratefully when Steve let the pad of it settle over his lips, willingly sucked and kissed his fingers as Steve slid two of them into his mouth, suckling willingly, eagerly at the tips.

Tony felt like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, either one, fingers clenching and unclenching helplessly as Steve held his one hand behind him, or with any part of his body, really. He sucked at Steve’s fingers and felt penetrated, pinned and held, invaded and spread, by both the fingers in his mouth and Steve’s throbbing cock in his ass, spreading him wide and open around it. His head dipped forward, loose on his neck with dizziness and pleasure, and Steve let his fingers push in even farther, stroking over his tongue, his thumb coming up and pressing into Tony’s jaw as he held his mouth, his chin, firmly. Tony moaned at the firmness of that hold and sucked harder, saliva dripping out of his mouth and smearing all over his chin, wet against Steve’s hand, his palm. It was good to be held so firmly.

“That’s it, suck, sweetheart,” Steve murmured, mouthing wetly at his ear, and Tony shivered as wet lips and wet tongue slid hot over the lobe of his ear, along his neck. “Suck that like you wish it was my cock, just like your rear has been sucking at my cock inside it, squeezing and wanting to keep me deep inside you.” He squeezed at Tony’s wrist again, stroked his thumb along the inside, petting it over Tony’s pulse. “You’re just made to suck my cock, aren’t you? Your whole body is, Tony. You’re my sweet little . . . little cocksucker, and it’s so sweet, Tony, you sweetheart, you suck cock so sweetly, so beautifully, top to bottom, just look at you.”

Tony gasped, moaned, trembling all over now, sucked on his fingers harder as those words slammed through him and made him shake, and that made the bright, hot, overwhelming sensations of Steve’s dick inside him sweep through him again, made him arch his back and gasp and squirm over Steve, around his fingers, around his _cock_ , helpless to get away, his own body helplessly squeezing and clutching at Steve inside and Steve’s fingers still sliding over his tongue.

“I know it’s hard for you to get me inside you,” Steve said, low and soft, “but once you do, you love it, don’t you? You’d like me to fuck you all the time, wouldn’t you, Tony? Your bottom, your mouth, you’d love it, either end, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Hell, you’d beg for me in your mouth, wouldn’t you?”

Tony moaned, panting against Steve’s fingers, against his palm, his hand. He thought there might be tears in his eyes again, and didn’t know why, just from being so overwhelmed. Steve talking dirty was—the word fuck, from his lips—it wasn’t like he never said anything sexual, far from it, he was almost always blunt and straightforward about sex, and he loved having it, even when he blushed, but he hardly ever used words like that, like _fuck_ , about sex anyway, and Tony was so—would he like it, Steve fucking him all the time? He didn’t know, and doubted it, and obviously it wasn’t actually even possible, but the idea of it, the _way_ Steve had said it, made overwhelming pleasure flash through him, made him suck wetly, all the more eager, at Steve’s fingers. He couldn’t speak, with Steve’s fingers back over his tongue, his palm against his bottom lip, and he was glad of it, glad he didn’t have to answer, just had to suck at Steve’s fingers and dribble saliva helplessly against his palm out of his held-open mouth and shake and moan and clench down weakly on Steve’s cock and _take it_ and take _him_.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Steve murmured. “I know you would.” Tony moaned, his body helplessly spasming at every involuntary clench inside him at those words, dribbled saliva down Steve’s fingers despite himself, hopelessly overwhelmed, even if Steve was right, he would beg for Steve in his mouth; he had before. Some days he just—really, really wanted it, to suck him, to give him that pleasure, have the taste and weight and warmth of Steve in his mouth, and—Tony had always liked giving oral sex, cock or vagina or whatever, it didn’t matter, it was like—it was almost soothing, somehow, selfless pleasure, something to focus on, something to put his lips and mouth to work on until he got the reactions he’d been wanting. He loved it, even when Steve’s cock was big enough to make his jaw ache, to choke him and stop his breath, and Steve knew it. There was no point in denying it; Tony would suck Steve off willingly, happily, and call it a favor to Tony himself any day of the week.

Steve kissed the back of his neck again and Tony trembled again, moaned around his fingers, head dipped forward, closed his eyes against the wet heat stinging them again. How had he gotten so overwhelmed? Well, penetrated at both ends, Steve’s cock so huge and hot and overwhelming inside his body, filling him up, like it stretched him to fill up every space he had between his pelvic bones, even if that obviously wasn’t true, Steve’s fingers deep in his mouth, and Tony sitting in his lap on display, so that Steve could see him, so that anyone who, unbelievably, overrode Tony’s security and came in could have seen him, no discreet hiding under Steve’s body or ability to dive under the blankets but on display to the world. Or he would have been, if he hadn’t kept the windows tinted dark when they started.

Steve released his wrist, skimmed his hand up over Tony’s forearm, then stroked over his belly, let Tony slide back against him a bit, relaxing his arm to slump back, letting himself settle all the more heavily onto Steve’s cock, which made him gasp and tremble and shake but somehow felt comforting, heavy and present and wide in his overstretched, overworked, oversensitive hole, his body, even as Steve slid his fingers further into Tony’s mouth and used them to tip his head helplessly back against Steve’s shoulder, stroking his belly with his other hand the whole time. Steve thrust up, a few times, making Tony gasp and shudder and tremble over him, his vision going white and then colorful, his body shaking and convulsing with the overwhelming sensation, and then he pulled his fingers out of Tony’s sloppy wet mouth, thumbing messily at his bottom lip.

“You’ve got such a sweet, eager mouth,” Steve told him. Tony thought he might have blushed but wasn’t sure. He felt so warm all over, it was hard to tell. His mouth was so wet, his chin and beard covered in drool. “So nice and wet and eager, and you love to suck so much.”

Tony nodded, helplessly, stupidly overwhelmed tears stinging his eyes again even though he wasn’t sure why—it was just so much, so, so much, and Steve was making his face warm, so self-conscious. He did love to suck, it was true, hadn’t he just been thinking that? He’d always liked giving oral best out of anything he could do in bed, loved using his mouth, but sucking _Steve_ —his fingers, his hand, his cock, his nipples, anything Steve wanted his mouth on. Yeah. That was the best. He wasn’t sure why that made his throat feel thick and his eyes sting. He was just—really overwhelmed, that was it.

Steve slid his thumb along his bottom lip again, back and forth, then slid his wet fingers down over Tony’s neck, tweaked his weirdly, newly sensitive nipple, and then murmured, “I’m going to take you hard again, and it’s going to be intense for you, I think, sweetheart. If you yell or babble or cry—that’s what I want, okay, Tony? I want to know how intensely you feel it. That makes it better for me, all right?”

“Yes,” Tony managed to fumble out. “Yes, Steve. I—I. Gotcha. I.” Steve wanted him to—he felt his face heating again, turned his head to one side, and Steve’s fingers touched his hot cheek, still damp from his mouth. Steve—Steve wanted him to cry, or—or . . .? Steve’s fingers slid gently over Tony’s cheek, against the hot skin, over his beard, caressing, because that was a caress, undeniably, sweet and gentle, backs of his fingers soft against Tony’s cheekbone, no matter how wet and sloppy with spit his face had gotten.

“No matter how overwhelming it gets, Shellhead,” Steve murmured in his ear. “Okay? I’m here. I’ve got you. I might push you until you feel like you’re going to break, but I’ve got you. I won’t let you. I won’t let you break. Okay? You’re safe with me, Tony.”

Safe. Tony’s face was flaming, and he had to swallow, gulping, swallow again. His head spun, felt hot and heavy and thick and dizzy.

Safe. He was safe with Steve, wasn’t he? He felt overwhelmed already, and heard himself sniff and struggle on another gulping intake of breath. “Safe, Steve, okay,” he mumbled, slurring, thick and overcome.

“I’ve got you,” Steve said again. His hand cupped Tony’s cheek, trailed down over the side of his neck, went flat there and held tight. His hand was damp and warm but felt almost cool against Tony’s hot skin, so strong and callused. “Good boy.”

Tony’s breathing hiccupped as he dragged in another deep, dizzy breath. “Steve?” he said. His head spun. His chest felt tight.

“What’s your color, Tony?” Steve murmured. His breath was soft, warm, against Tony’s ear, against his neck.

“Green,” Tony said, moaned, really. “Green, Steve, green, please. Please.”

“All right,” Steve said, his voice gentle. “All right, I’ve gotcha. I’ve gotcha.”

“Mmm, sugar,” Tony mumbled. “Thank you, thank you, honey. Don’t. Don’t stop. Steve. Steve.” _Please don’t stop_ , something deep inside his mind babbled, _please, please, please, I’m just now getting there, to where I want to be, please keep holding me, please keep me down like this, under you, use me up, keep me here, I want you, Steve, I want you, I want you . . . ._

“You’re mine, right?” Steve said, against his ear. His teeth dug in, gently, just behind it, and Tony stiffened, arched over him, his breath choking tight in his throat, even though it was just a little touch, the tiniest sting of pain, but it felt so intense.

“Yeah, Steve,” Tony choked out. His voice was so thick and rough and husky and slurred it didn’t even sound like him. “Yeah, Steve, yours.”

“You’re so good, sweetheart,” Steve said, against the curve of his ear, curling his tongue against the soft part of Tony’s ear, then biting that, lightly, too. Tony heard the soft noise he made as if it was from far away. “You’re so good to me, Tony.” His hand came up and cupped Tony’s balls, his soft cock, teasing at them gently, stroking, gripping, and then he held him there, hand cupped firm against his sex, and took his shoulder and pushed Tony over, forward onto the bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The majority of ass-to-mouth content is in this chapter, which also features a lot of oral sex and, also, rimming and felching. In general, this is not the safest sex in the world, and I can't recommend it without your own super-soldier and the powers of unrealistic fantasy porn sex. Very porn, very sex. Also, Tony spends this chapter pretty much entirely in subspace and very eager to please.

Steve moved inside him as Tony fell forward, helplessly, and that, the sensation, the shift of that hard, heavy hot cock inside him against his own helplessly loose, clenching, wet walls, the slick, easy slide against him, was all he could think about for long, bright moments that were all sensation and movement and gasping, impossible intensity. He came back to himself to find himself on his elbows and knees spread so wide his thighs ached, an extremely uncertain position with his legs splayed out so far he was slipping, Steve still deep inside him, hips tight against Tony’s wet thighs and sweaty ass, and Tony’s face in the covers, all wet, wet eyes, wet mouth as he drooled and shook into the soft fabric.

Steve’s hand was still cupping his cock, but then he squeezed—Tony whimpered, heard the low, shuddering, pathetic noise, as it sent strange, overwhelming sensation through him, almost too intense to be pleasure—and moved away, moving his hands to shift Tony’s knees, his legs, bringing them together, shifting him forward and back until he was more solidly braced on his knees, Steve’s hands cupped just above his knees, against his thighs, as he pushed against him, cock so deep it wouldn’t go any further and body warm and strong over him, covering him entirely, Tony just smaller enough. Tony heard himself moan as if from a long way away, mouth smearing wet against the coverlet as he tried, once, then again, to push himself up on his elbows and forearms. He succeeded on the third try, gasping and groaning as Steve’s cock shifted inside him with it.

“That’s good,” Steve murmured against his neck, pressed a gentle kiss there, against his top vertebra. “Shh, that’s so good, good boy, Tony.” His hands slid up, slow, gentle, making prickling heat shiver over Tony’s thighs under his callused palms as they prickled against the wiry hair over his thighs, up and over up all the way to his hips, where he rubbed his thumbs against the curve of the bone, just against the dip there, and made Tony shudder and shake. “Can you stay like that?” Steve asked in a low, rough voice, lips tingling soft kisses over Tony’s spine, over his shoulders, along his neck. “It’s okay if you can’t.”

“Ah,” Tony said, his mind full of nothing but fuzz and sensation, his arms and legs both trembling under him. “Ah—” Stay up? Could he? He had no idea, but if Steve wanted him to, he would. “Yes,” he said, determined, and adjusted himself for a better position, rocking on his knees, shuffling back and shifting his arms. “I can.”

More soft, wet kisses from Steve, down along his spine, up under his ears. “Shh,” Steve said. “That’s good.” His hand came up again, slid along Tony’s cock, along the soft length of it, firm, rough hand gentle, rubbing his thumb over Tony’s tip, against the slit, until Tony was whimpering, groaning, fire shimmering through his veins, not quite pleasure, not quite pain. “Mmm,” he said. “Feels good when I do that.” His hand gently slid down the shaft again, making Tony gasp, his eyes sting wet again at the overwhelm of it, the intense stimulation despite the gentleness of Steve’s touch. Tony whimpered, groaned, shaking and shuddering, rocking from one arm to the other, feeling Steve inside him as if he somehow got bigger with every stroke his hand gave Tony’s cock, heat and heaviness pressing against the loose clasp of his trembling inner walls as they tried to clench down on him. “You clench up inside all sweet and tight when I touch you,” Steve murmured against his ear. “Does it feel good, Tony?”

Tony whined, groaning. He wasn’t sure if it felt _good_ , but it felt—it felt. So much. There was pleasure, yes, hot and eager between his legs, twisting in his belly, but it was almost pain, and inside he felt all sorts of—shivery, hot, overstimulated, too much. He could never have put it into words, even if he could have thought enough to speak or do anything with his mouth aside from letting it hang open as he panted desperately for air. But it was _good_ , it was perfect, the idea that Steve was touching Tony’s cock just to make it better for himself, to make his loose, open hole clench down on him the way he liked it. That was perfect. How had—how did Steve know?

His hand kept moving up and down, thumb moving over Tony’s slit on every stroke, pushing in against him, then his palm sliding down, cupping Tony’s balls gently, squeezing just a bit, then moving back up. “Mmm,” Steve said again, and rolled his hips, creating a wet sound that made Tony flush as Steve’s cock slid nearly out of him, then pushed back in. He did that again and again, and again, as Tony struggled to stay up on all fours, bracing himself against his forearms, gasping and aching wonderfully, painfully, with overstimulated pleasure shivering along his cock with every pass of Steve’s hand, overstimulated ache shooting through his tender hole and inner tissues with every unconscious clasp of his body down on Steve’s hard cock, on his slow, easy thrusts. He could feel himself fluttering inside and tightening around Steve when he thought about it, and he felt strange, almost outside his body at the same time he felt tight and hot under his skin, hyperaware of every sensation. Steve’s breath was warm on his shoulder, his teeth biting in against the back of it, into the muscle there, each time he thrust in, huffs of breath each time he bottomed out inside Tony’s desperately clenching overworked body.

After a few—moments? Tony thought it was moments—Steve’s hand came down and squeezed gently at Tony’s balls, and Tony whimpered, almost fell forward as he lost his balance. Steve cupped him there, as if holding him steady, for a moment, staying balls-deep inside him, then ran his thumb gently over the tight, sensitive flesh, and kissed the top of Tony’s spine, against his third vertebra, before digging in his teeth, sucking and worrying in a soft, slow biting kiss that Tony knew immediately he intended to leave as a bruised, splotchy mark, just under his collar. No one would be able to see it when he was dressed, but it would be visible if he left his robe a bit loose, between the two of them, let the collar sag down, and it felt like—like a brand, like Steve was biting him to show that, that mastery Tony had been feeling, how he owned Tony’s body, a stamp, a symbol of it right there, just under the back of his neck.

When Steve was done, Tony was biting his lips against the whines that wanted to escape, feeling his mouth wet with saliva all over again, and Steve squeezed his balls again, so gently, so perfectly commanding, and brushed a kiss against that tender, bruised spot, before he let Tony go. Tony’s mind was strangely floating, unable to focus, unable to keep track of anything. The next thing he was certain of was Steve’s hand on his hip, clutching tight and making the already deeply bruised flesh flare into a tender ache, and then his hand squeezed, and Steve brushed a wet, sloppy kiss over the back of Tony’s neck as Tony was gasping, his chest heaving, his mouth hot, and Tony’s stomach flipped over, like he was in freefall, because he knew what was coming, that Steve was about to fuck him, hard, like he’d said, and then Steve mumbled, “Get ready,” against the back of his neck, and then he—well, he was, fucking Tony just as hard as he’d said, as he implied he would.

Tony wasn’t, really, ready, but since there was really no way he ever would have been able to get ready, not for that, he figured Steve had just meant it as more of a warning, and he appreciated the thought. He whimpered, groaned, felt his head tip forward, the way his neck was bobbing, hanging down low between his shoulders, with each thrust of Steve’s hard cock deep into him. It was—strange, overwhelming, all-consuming, but to feel Steve fuck into him so damn easily, to hear the slick, wet sound of the slide of him, to feel the soft quiver of his internal tissues around that cock as he was fucked, and fucked, and _fucked_ , Steve slamming in and out of him like the pistons of an engine, working Tony under him, the sounds slick and obscene—He kneeled there and braced his weak, trembling body over his forearms and let his forehead rest against them and just took it, took every moment of it, as Steve’s thumb dug in along the dip of his hipbone, pinning him, demanding, clutching him tight, as with every thrust he felt the helpless, hopeless flutter and give as he was slammed into inside, giving way before Steve in every single way possible. He was fucking him so damn hard. Tony could barely breathe, like his heart was stuttering. Which, uh, it wasn’t, he was pretty sure, it didn’t feel like a heart attack, not really, just—sort of. Because he couldn’t think straight, or breathe, and the overwhelming pistoning thrusts didn’t stop, didn’t let him get a breath. But it was good, it was exactly what he’d wanted, and he couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t think, and Steve didn’t stop. He hoped it was as good for Steve, as much what he’d wanted, needed, and then he stopped thinking at all.

He just felt, felt as Steve fucked into his entirely unresisting body, heard each wet, slapping, squelching noise, heard his own gasps in his head and in his chest as he felt them wrench out of his throat, felt his hot wet breaths as he panted against his own arms, felt it as Steve’s hard, velvety-steel hot cock slammed into him again and again, sliding brutally along that sweet spot inside Tony that didn’t know whether to make him feel pleasure or helpless, overworked pain, felt the overwhelming ache of it, the throbbing, excruciating pleasure, the way his cock flopped with each jerk of his body, soft between his legs, the way Steve’s thrusts jerked him forward and back with every movement, with the grip Steve had on his hips.

He had literally no idea how long it lasted, none whatsoever. If Steve had told him after that he’d fucked him right there for two or three hours, he’d have believed him, and likewise if he’d told him it was about three minutes that had felt like three hours. Eventually his concentration shifted entirely to just keeping himself upright, balanced on his arms and his knees, because Steve was fucking him so hard his whole body jerked with every movement, and then his knees went out from under him, and he ended up face down, and Steve paused, just for a split second, but didn’t stop. The next thrust made an even wetter sound, and Tony felt his face heat, even as he panted helplessly, wetly, into the covers, the breath knocked out of him. Steve’s hand came down just above his hip, on the small of his back, squeezing, thumb rubbing firmly against the skin, and then Steve let out a soft, stuttering gasp and pressed his face against Tony’s spine, between his shoulder blades, drove in impossibly deep and hard, and bit down, with force, in that same bruised, bitten spot as he came.

Tony didn’t—didn’t yell, in bed. He’d never been a screamer, and he’d taught himself to be quiet as a very young man in his first explorations and never altered that habit. But the feeling of Steve’s teeth biting down hard on that sensitive, exquisitely tender, painful spot, the weight of Steve’s body crushing him down into his mattress, the way his dick was pressed and rubbed against the bed, hard or not, the furious ache of his overworked prostate throbbing with horrible pleasure with every slick thrust and now suddenly receiving nothing but throbbing stillness, the hot wet surge as Steve released inside him—Tony cried out, heard it as if from far away and only belatedly realized it had been him that had released that hoarse yell into his arms.

They just lay there for a moment, Tony feeling his face burn, suddenly hyper-aware of how he had cried out, how desperately loud it had sounded in a room where the only other sound was that of Steve’s hoarse breathing against his shoulders, his own stuttering, heaving gasps. He dragged in air, gasping and aching against the bed, feeling the strain in his lungs, how his breath scratched and dragged, stinging in his throat, like he’d been running, and he couldn’t seem to catch it, to steady it. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

He was just starting to, slowly, even out his breathing, when Steve stirred behind him, slid slowly back to his knees, in a way that made his dick move, slick and easy and sloppy-wet, inside of Tony, and that made him gasp and lose his breath all over again. Steve squeezed at Tony’s shoulder, rubbed his thumb against the sweaty skin, just above the bone, avoiding the still throbbing, stinging bite he’d left that prickled and burned in the air of the room with a constant ache, and then, of all things, his fingers slid over to Tony’s throat, pressed in against his carotid artery, until Tony could feel his heart pounding heavily in his throat against his fingers, and was Steve _taking his damn pulse_ , Tony wasn’t even sure if he was offended or not, before he brought it away again, squeezed Tony’s shoulder once more, and Tony swallowed, hard, because he knew what was coming; he knew Steve was just about to start all over, to take him again.

Sure enough, a second later and he was, hand slipping to brace itself against the bed by Tony’s shoulder. He started off fast, this time, jolting thrusts rocking Tony against the bed, rubbing his soft dick against it, and Tony moaned, shuddered under him, trembling, not sure if he wanted that stimulation to stop or not, to keep going, his cock soft but throbbing against the coverlet, the soft firmness of the bed, even as Steve thrust into him and made him ache. Steve’s other hand came down, clenched hard against Tony’s skin again, and Tony almost whimpered, couldn’t help it, as his fingers dug in tight against the bruises he’d already left there, holding him still for each demanding, pinioning, impossibly deep thrust. And they did feel impossibly deep—Tony knew this wasn’t the best position for deep penetration, that Steve couldn’t be going _that deep_ compared to what he’d have been able to do if Tony were tilted better for him with his ass up, or if Tony was riding him, or even if Tony was lying on his side, rather than flat out face down like this with his legs only a little spread. But it _felt_ incredibly, impossibly deep, had him jolting and whimpering with each thrust, every time Steve’s heat and weight and hard, heavy girth seemed to penetrate so deep inside him.

He wanted to wriggle and buck under Steve, gasping, but Steve’s fingers were digging so deeply into his hip, holding him still, harsh and tight, biting in and pinning him down in a way that made Tony’s breath come short, heat curl in his stomach and his cock throb needily against the bed. He didn’t have time to think about that, though, about how the deep, penetrating pain of Steve’s fingers on his already bruised hip was indisputably stiffening Tony’s trapped cock against the bed until he could feel it hot and leaking against his own pelvis, because Steve was still fucking him, so brutally, breathtakingly hard that Tony really couldn’t think about anything else in between his gasps for air and the flares of pleasure, of overwhelmed pain, there and gone, from his battered interior muscles as Steve fucked him, even with the slide as quick and easy as it was now with all the come slicking Tony up and spilling out of him every time Steve slid back. Tony could feel it dripping down his ass, ticklish and wet against his balls, cooling on his thighs.

And Steve just sped up, fucking him harder, faster, until Tony was lightheaded, breath burning in his chest as it hitched and caught on each thrust in, each thrust that left him dizzy like he’d forgotten how to breath as impossibly, overwhelming sensation, the pure force of it shuddered through him, and then Steve would rock back out, the sensation teasing, slick and soft and making Tony yearn for some kind of pressure he couldn’t even think clearly enough to identify and roll his hips helplessly, before Steve was thrusting back into him again and he was full and it was too much and Tony was choking on his own spit, his own saliva, his throat burning with his helpless gasps for air as he clenched both hands into the bedcovers, pressed his face helplessly against his own bare, sweaty forearm.

By the time Steve groaned and stilled and gasped, heavily, panting, his breath hot and damp against Tony’s neck, just under his ear, and Tony felt the warm pulse of Steve’s cock inside him again and knew he was being filled with yet more come, as Steve kept grinding his hips against his ass, jerking in and out as he came and came, Tony’s eyes were wet against his own arm, and his mouth was spit-slick and drooling against the bed and he could barely even think to care.

Steve shifted down Tony’s back, still lazily rolling his hips against Tony’s ass, his cock sliding in and out of him, chasing aftershocks of pleasure, Tony knew, and felt a sense of pride, of accomplishment, that washed through him warm and pleased and fond despite how it made his insides throb with aching sensitivity and heat, because it had taken so long to convince Steve it was all right to do that, to keep thrusting once he’d come, to chase his pleasure as long as he wanted, until he was really done, without feeling like he was imposing for doing it. Steve’s strong, perfect teeth dug in, sparking pain through Tony’s body as Steve bit at the same place again, sucking against the painful, tender, aching skin, and pain arched through Tony, made him try to bunch his shoulders and lift his hips despite himself, despite not really wanting to, before the inexorable press of Steve’s heavy body pushed him back down. Tony didn’t even realize he’d given a hoarse, rasping yelp of a cry, almost a shout, until he heard it echoing in the room, felt the scrape in the throat and the burn as he tried futilely to swallow the saliva trailing out of his mouth.

“Good boy,” Steve gasped raggedly, in a whisper, against the sensitive, bruised skin of his back. Tony shuddered. Steve’s mouth, his breath, felt very hot against the raw, prickling pain of that bruise. His voice was slurred, barely understandable at first, a little clearer as he repeated himself. “Good, good boy. That’s it. That’s so good, Tony. That’s so good. Perfect.”

Pleasure flooded through Tony, tight and tugging in his chest, at his heart, more intense than anything provoked by the strung-out nerves of his body, and Tony whimpered, buried his face in his arms to hide what he was sure were tears in his eyes, and not just tears of strain from the overwhelming fucking, not anymore. It felt like the best compliment he’d ever received in bed, and that praise, and after a fuck like that, while he’d just lain there, helpless, owned and marked and used, utterly, felt incredible, undeserved, perfect. His chest ached, felt thick and hot, and he couldn’t breathe. “Steve,” he whimpered, and he knew his voice sounded thick.

“Shh,” Steve said. “Hey, I’m here. I’ve gotcha.” He lifted his hand, and stroked it gently through Tony’s hair. He was lying there, helplessly pinioned and covered, Steve’s thick cock still deep inside him, his big strong body entirely covering Tony’s, and his hand was in Tony’s hair, gently stroking through the sweat-curling strands, rubbing against the back of his neck, just under his ear. Tony felt more liquid sting the backs of his eyes. Everything seemed to hurt, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt more overwhelmed in his life, chest heaving, still unable to get a breath, and Steve stroked his hair so damn gently, so carefully, brushing the back of his fingers against it, running his thumb up over Tony’s ear. They lay there for another moment, Steve’s head heavy against Tony’s shoulder, and then Steve kissed him there, against his spine, against the bruising bite he’d left, then again against the back of his neck right under his hairline. “I’m right here,” he murmured, voice thick and deep and husky with sex, “and I’m not goin’ anywhere.” His accent was there in force; he could have stepped right out of the Lower East Side in the 1930s.

“Was—was it good, Steve?” Tony managed to gasp out, finally, and his voice sounded breathy and weak, and it sounded like tears.

“It was . . . it was one of the best, Tony, darlin’,” Steve slurred against the back of his neck, “that I’ve ever had, felt so good,” and kissed him so gently Tony felt the tears spill over and sniffed, helpless and humiliated, against the bed.

“Shh,” Steve soothed, and rolled onto his side, pulling Tony with him, into his body, not pulling out of him, so that Tony’s body spasmed and shook around him. And then they were lying there, Steve spooned up behind him, Tony with his chest heaving and both his arms still over his eyes, and Steve said, “Shh,” again, “easy, Shellhead, I’ve got you,” and reached up and took Tony’s hand and pulled it down.

Tony stiffened, he knew he did, but Steve kissed his ear, his neck, his shoulder, and then his fingers brushed gently against Tony’s lips, and Tony sucked on them softly, gratefully, just the tips invading his mouth, then slipping in and out, fucking his mouth gently, so gently, like a substitute for Steve’s cock, as Steve slid his leg between Tony’s and curled over him and kissed his trembling skin and the goosebumps that were starting to come all over him, his other hand smoothing over Tony’s hip, up over his belly, holding him, big and broad and warm against the quaking muscles of his abdomen. Safe, Tony thought, and more tears stung in his eyes as he shook.

Tony lost himself easily in oral sex, and Steve’s fingers between his lips, against his tongue, were making him feel like he was sucking cock. He lost track of himself, of everything, in the rhythm, the soft, easy pleasure of opening for them, the in and out thrusting motion, offering suction and the curling softness of his tongue. Eventually, he realized that Steve was praising him, voice soft in his ear, telling him how sweet he looked, how pretty he looked with something in his mouth, how good he was at this, how good it felt, how much he loved it and Steve loved that he loved it, how sweet and hot and soft his eager mouth felt on Steve’s fingers, how good Tony’s body had felt, still felt, all soft and quivering around him, and he thought he probably should have felt embarrassed, but the praise just swept through him with warmth, and he relaxed against Steve helplessly. “You are so damn beautiful,” Steve said, like he really, really meant it, and Tony felt himself flush even as Steve brushed his thumb gently against his bottom lip and took his fingers out of his mouth.

“Mmm,” Tony moaned, helplessly, twisting to look up at Steve, already missing their weight and taste and movement in his mouth, and Steve smiled at him, kissed his cheek, damp fingers taking his chin in his hand, sliding gently down over the sensitive skin of his throat. Tony swallowed convulsively, feeling his throat working.

“Yeah,” he said, “I know,” and kissed Tony’s forehead, just against his eyebrow.

“I . . .” Tony said, and panted, “Steve . . .”

“It was intense for you,” Steve said. “Just like I said, wasn’t it, Tony?”

Tony nodded. Intense, hell, that was an understatement. He could still feel tears dried and tacky on his face, around his eyes.

“You’re so good for me, Tony,” Steve said, and Tony felt his face go hot with shame as his eyes watered again, because it felt so good to hear that, so, so good.

“Shh,” Steve said, “I only say it because I mean it, sweetheart.” Tony’s hands were trembling, but Steve squeezed one of them, picked them both up and pressed kisses to them. “I know what you want,” he said.

“Yeah?” Tony asked, breathless. What did he want? He had no idea. Steve probably knew better than he did just then.

“I bet you want to suck my cock,” Steve said, kindly, and Tony moaned, eager, suddenly needy, because yes, yes. He wanted that. He wanted that so much. He wanted that even more than he’d liked sucking on Steve’s fingers.

“Shh, I know,” Steve said. “Are you sure it’s okay? I was just inside you, you know. You'll get all that all over your lips, you'll end up swallowing it.” Tony nodded, nodded again, mumbled something, _so okay_ , he thought, repeated it, again and again, breathless and brokenly needing, and Steve just smiled, pressed a gentle kiss into his hair. His hands smoothed down over Tony’s thighs, and then he was rolling Tony over, onto his belly, and pushing himself up to all fours in order to pull out of his wet, messy ass. His cock came free with the wet, squelching noise of suction released, and Tony flushed hot, buried his face in the covers in embarrassment. God, he had to be fucked so sloppy by now. He had to be wide open. Steve’s fingers were there, exploring, slipping into that loose wetness, thumbing at the top of him, the sensitive puffiness of his swollen hole, and Tony gasped, heaving in his chest, at the sensation, how _much_ it was, the exploring touch against such a sensitive place. “Shh, I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve said, and he could hear that he was smiling. “I know. Does that hurt?”

“It’s okay,” Tony slurred out. He wanted Steve to know that his body was for him to use. He spread his legs a little more, would have rocked up to his knees a little to push his ass back and up for Steve if he hadn’t been so tired and Steve’s fingers weren’t inside him making him feel all kinds of hot and overwhelmed and shivery with ache and sensitivity, making his cock throb soft and helpless and raw against the bed. “Please. What—what you want. Touch me?”

“Does it hurt, though,” Steve murmured, his thumb sliding along the curve of Tony’s ass cheek as his fingers pumped wetly, easily inside the slippery mess, sending oversensitized arcs of stinging sensation that through Tony’s entire body. Tony writhed, helplessly, limbs weak, against the covers, “Tell me the truth, or you can’t have what you want.”

“It hurts,” Tony gasped into the covers. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop,” Steve said, and his fingers curved, crooking gently. Tony moaned, feeling his toes curl, his eyes sting wetly again. Steve’s fingers were exquisitely gentle against Tony’s prostate, and every touch sang through him with pain. “You’re such a good boy, Tony,” Steve said, just as gentle, and Tony had to gasp against the tears. “You’re such a good, good boy. You’re doing so well. Just look at you. All for me, isn’t it? Aren’t you? You give it up so pretty. Never seen anything quite as pretty as how you give it up for me. Shh. Let me. I want to check you, okay? Make sure you’re all right.” His thumb spread slick wetness around the painfully sensitive rim of Tony’s hole. Tony felt very, very wet inside, knew he was leaking with every moment of Steve’s fingers. His ass felt very strange, clenching and unclenching as if without his permission with every probing soft movement of Steve’s fingers. Steve’s thumb kept stroking at his rim, almost petting, and it hurt and felt good at the same time. Tony was gasping into the covers, his hand clenching and unclenching up above his head as he tried not to twist or shift or shudder too much under Steve’s claiming, penetrating, softly exploring touches. He wanted to be just as good as Steve said he was. Even when it hurt, raw skin pleasured gently into agony. _Especially_ when it hurt. Steve’s gentleness gave it a special kind of ache, and it was good, so, so good, and Tony wanted to be good for him, wanted to be good for him so much.

Eventually Steve pulled his wet fingers out of him, wiped them down Tony’s thigh, and Tony could feel himself leaking, come dribbling out of him, cool air on the sensitive tissues inside him, because, damn, of course he was that open, and Steve tapped one finger against him, right there, and Tony yelped, despite himself, whimpered as his hole tried to close on it, fluttering and sucking and loose and failing.

“You’re such a gorgeous mess,” Steve said. “I love seeing you like this.”

Tony nodded, because he knew that. He thought he should thank Steve, for saying he was gorgeous when he was sure he was just a mess, but then Steve’s thumb brushed over his hole and totally distracted him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Tony,” Steve said. His thumb brushed over that wet, leaking, trembling opening again, and Tony wondered how puffy he was, how fucked open, and didn’t really want to know what it looked like. It felt—very strange, open and loose and giving. “But I’d like to clean you up first, keep you from spilling my come all over the bed. Is that okay?” He bent his head down, and Tony knew what he was going to do, and he hid his face in his arms because this was always so goddamn embarrassing, but also because his stupid, useless cock gave a throb of eagerness at it. Because it was going to feel good, and he wanted it, Steve’s gentle mouth on that aching, hot, wet, swollen place that felt so open and needy and painful, soothing him there, again. But he didn’t want to want it, because it was _embarrassing_ , he wasn’t clean down there, nobody was, and it was so—intimate, that part of him under Steve’s mouth and tongue, and Steve shouldn’t have to touch, have to kiss such a dirty part of him, dirty even though he’d cleaned up for Steve before this, flushed himself out, he always did, but it still wasn’t—wasn’t clean. Even if he’d already done it, already licked it out of him, tonight. Tony didn’t want to seem greedy for it; Steve didn’t have to, and Tony was dirty and wet and full of come and Steve shouldn’t have to touch his messy, humiliating hole.

But Steve wanted to, that was the thing, Steve _liked_ it. So Tony breathed, shaking and breathy, “Yes, honey, sure, that’s, that’s fine, yes, sir,” and then Steve murmured, “Shh, all right, thank you, Tony,” and his mouth was on Tony’s hole, kissing it gently, lips and tongue soft against the hot, aching, puffy rim, as if Steve was laying a kiss against his mouth, and Tony forgot how to think at all. Steve licked at him, gently, softly, kissing and suckling, working Tony’s hole open until he could feel how he was leaking his own come back onto Steve’s tongue, and pressed his face into his arms, against the covers, and panted helplessly as he felt himself clench and unclench and flutter and squeeze as if he had no control over that part of himself and the weak, tired muscles there at all.

Steve’s tongue was very gentle inside him, soft and coaxing, swirling around and licking up wetness with amazing dexterity, gently soothing over the raw tenderness of Tony’s rim, of the overworked, swelling tissues just inside it. It hurt, but in the best way, like a bandage laid over a cut, as he laved and swirled his tongue, all soft pressure, and kissed at that sore, sore place, working Tony open gently and slowly on his tongue, saliva and spit wet and warm all over him as Steve sucked come and—whatever else eagerly into his mouth. Steve’s hands came up, too, one holding one of Tony’s legs, the other rubbing softly just under where Steve licked and sucked, fingers gentle against Tony’s perineum, rubbing and rubbing until Tony was whimpering, squirming, at so much gentle pressure inside and out, then moved up to rub at his balls, tugging at them with just as much insistent gentleness. Tony knew he wasn’t going to orgasm, but it was almost like being coaxed to one with nothing but the gentlest of prickling warmth over his sensitive hole and inside against his throbbing inner walls and soft touches to his perineum and sac. Steve ignored his cock where it was pressed tight against the bed and against Tony’s belly, stroking his thighs, his perineum, back to his balls. Something coiled tight in Tony’s belly, then uncoiled. He went lax against the bed. He didn’t come, even as Steve licked and kissed and slurped at his ass, tongue going deep, and Tony gasped with that strange not-quite-pleasure and shuddered, and then Steve swallowed against him, sucked and swallowed again, and again, and Tony’s rim felt so incredibly sensitized and raw and strange, and then Steve licked him again and pulled off, giving his sac one last affectionate squeeze. He was leaning up and pressing a kiss to the middle of Tony’s back a moment later.

“That was so good,” he murmured. “Thank you, Tony.”

“No, th-thank you, stud,” Tony managed to stammer. His eyes stung, and his throat felt thick and hoarse, his voice strange.

He could feel Steve’s smile against his back. “You are so good, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he said. His hands slid along Tony’s back, thumbs working gently against the small of his back. Tony groaned, because that felt good. “Thanking me for something you’re not even sure if you like.”

“Whatever you want, Steve,” Tony sighed, and felt his mouth curve into a smile at the praise, at the thought, even as Steve rolled him gently onto his side, and he could look up at him. “I like that you like doing that to me, so.” He felt very breathless, still. “If you want. Then thank you.”

“Yeah?” Steve murmured. His lips were very red, slick and wet and shiny, and Tony felt his face heat just looking at them, and how swollen and plush they looked. His chin was wet and shining. “Mmm.” Steve’s hand came up, stroked gently at Tony’s bottom lip. “What was I just doing to you, Tony?” he murmured. “I want you to say it.”

Tony felt his face going even hotter, knew he dropped his eyes. _Kissing my ass_ swam through his brain, and he had to bite his lip, not sure if he wanted to laugh or be mortified. “Licking me open,” he mumbled. “Cleaning me up. Tasting yourself in me. Inside me.” His loose hole throbbed at the thought, oddly sensitized. “You said it—you said it—” _it tasted good. Sweet as candy._ “You said you liked it. Earlier.” His voice broke, hitching and stammering, and he felt embarrassed over that, too, his cheeks hot.

“Mmm, that’s it,” Steve said, and kissed his temple. “That’s exactly it. I like to taste myself inside you, Tony. You know that?”

“I don’t know why,” Tony said, feeling very flushed, very hot, “but, uh. Yeah? I—I’d noticed that. You said. I. Um.”

Steve grinned, tapped his thumb gently against Tony’s lips, then pushed him over onto his back even as Tony was trying to press a kiss against it, suckle it into his mouth. Tony whimpered as he landed on his back, on his ass, and felt newly aware of his damp, tender asshole, his sore thighs.

“I like you full of my come,” Steve said. “I like to taste it in you and know I put it there. I like to lick it out of you. Because you’re so, so wonderful, Tony, and good, and you feel so good, and I can’t help it when I’m with you.”

Tony lay on his back and stared up at Steve, at the gentle, pink tinge to his cheeks that started to deepen as he said that, at his sparkling eyes and tousled, messy, sweaty hair, all gilt tangles darkened in places with sweat, and felt his breath come short in his chest, his throat tighten. “Let me make you feel good, stud,” he whispered softly.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Steve said, and reached up, took Tony’s hand and squeezed, holding it against Tony’s chest, just for a moment. His other hand came up and brushed Tony’s hair off his forehead, playing through the strands gently. “That’s it, Tony,” he said. “Here, come on, suck my cock.”

Tony moaned, eager, feeling his mouth water at those words, like he was actually hungry for it, but probably really just a physical response to how primed and ready he was. He still needed Steve’s help, as Steve shifted to sit back against the pillows and helped Tony turn over and shift up between his legs. Steve was gentle as he thumbed at Tony’s chin, propped his head up with his fingers on his jaw until Tony got with the program enough to shove an elbow under him to hold his head up, and then Steve’s hand was at Tony’s lips, thumb gently opening his mouth even as his other hand went to his own cock. He was hard again, already, maybe from suckling at Tony’s wet, sloppy asshole, which was—okay, still made a strange squirm of embarrassment start in Tony’s stomach—and Tony let his mouth fall open and Steve feed his cock between his lips until it laid on his tongue and he could taste that salty sweetness that was Steve to his core, and suck.

Steve groaned, and it was a sound of such open pleasure that Tony felt his eyes prickle again, even as he sucked gently at the head, slid his tongue just under it, against the wrinkle of Steve’s foreskin, where he knew he was sensitive, so he could feel the jump of the live, silky-steel flesh in his mouth as Steve’s cock jerked. Steve’s cock was hot, wet and sticky from being inside him, and tasted like Steve’s own come more than anything. Steve’s hand fell to Tony’s head, and his big, heavy fingers coiled so gently in Tony’s hair that something in his chest throbbed tenderly. He sucked more gently, softly, let off with the suction to work with his tongue again, serving Steve with all the love and devotion and willingness he knew how to show with his mouth, and Steve’s hips rolled, slightly.

Tony loved sucking cock. He loved sucking _Steve’s_ cock, loved how responsive he was, the sweet-salt taste of him on his tongue, loved how Steve always seemed to taste a little of soap and a little of sweat and a little of leather on top of the healthy, butter-sweet taste of firm strong male flesh, the silky smoothness of him. He was less naturally musky than Tony, and his natural fluid tasted sweeter than most, which made Steve blush whenever it was mentioned and blame the serum. He loved how big Steve was, wide and thick and long, how Tony had to open his jaw and accept that he was going to drool to get that heavy girth into his mouth, how it held him open and made his jaw ache with the weight as he served him, loved how he had to work to open his throat for a good face-fucking, and loved that Steve, Steve who was so careful about his size and strength and so careful of Tony, got so eager for oral pleasure and the feeling of Tony’s throat that he would let him, let Tony choke on him and struggle because it just felt that good, and Tony could do that for him. He loved working himself all the way down until he could bury his face in Steve’s sweaty golden curls and appreciate _how_ blond he really was, and the way it would make Steve buck and gasp and whimper and his fingers dig in and tangle in Tony’s hair as he tried not to hold him down against him. Steve was the most responsive partner for oral sex Tony had ever had, and part of Tony wondered if it was because most people looked at the size of that big, beautiful monster of a cock and decided on the spot _no way is that thing ever coming near my throat_ , and so he was still pretty inexperienced in receiving it.

Tony loved being able to do it for him. It made every choking, struggling embarrassment of a blowjob he’d ever given as a teenager worth it five hundred times over, because that was how he’d learned how to do this, and it meant he could do this for Steve now, that he knew how to give a blowjob that was as good as he could make it, and, yeah, he was willing to go there, humanly possible. He gave a damn good blowjob, okay?

Steve was murmuring praise, now, soft and sweet, both hands stroking through Tony’s hair as he labored over his cock, sucking gently, playing him with his tongue, opening his mouth to take him in to the back of his throat. It wasn’t very imaginative, just a lot of gasped, choked out, “Tony, you’re so good, so good, this is so good, thank you, thank you so much, this feels so good, you’re amazing, oh God, Tony, you’re amazing, thank you,” but it was the sweetest thing Tony could have ever imagined hearing, and his cheeks burned and his eyes felt wet with the force of it as Steve gently, so, so gently pushed Tony’s hair off his forehead and behind his ears. God, Steve was good to him.

Tony pulled off Steve’s cock, kissed and licked down the side of it, laving his tongue over it, until he could lap and suck at Steve’s balls, lavishing attention on them, dragging his tongue gently over the soft, velvety skin, sucking at one first, then the other, letting his facial hair drag softly along Steve’s skin until he was gasping, his hips bucking minutely despite himself. Steve’s balls were damp, too, wet from all the fluids leaking out of Tony as Steve had fucked him, probably. It was weird and a little embarrassing to taste what Tony knew were fluids from inside him on Steve’s cock as he sucked him off, and it might have bothered Tony on another day, but at the moment it just sent another little frisson of not-quite-degrading thrill through Tony’s stomach. Tony lifted one hand, let it stroke gently along Steve’s inner thigh, his thumb sliding along, stroking with the back of his fingers, turning it back over to stroke Steve with his palm. His hand was trembling, still, but he did it anyway, slurping wetly at Steve’s balls before he licked and kissed and teased his tongue and wet, spit-slick lips back up along Steve’s cock and took him back into his mouth to kiss at the head, close his lips and suck, even as drool escaped his wet, sloppy mouth and ran down Steve’s shaft.

Steve yelped, groaned, and when Tony looked up through his eyelashes he’d let his head drop back, gulping for breath, and he could see a bead of sweat trailing its way down Steve’s gorgeous Grecian column of a throat (if they’d ever made one with an Adam's apple and painted flushed bright sweet coral-pink, the color Steve turned when he was turned on). His fingers were clenching gently in Tony’s hair, clenching and loosening helplessly, and Tony swirled his tongue around Steve’s cockhead again and hummed gently, just to make Steve moan and dig his heels in against the bed and shudder all over, big broad chest heaving. His nipples were flushed and perked up and gorgeous, all pink and luscious where they stood out on his heaving pecs, the way Tony loved to watch. Tony stroked Steve’s thigh some more, still sucking, rolled his balls gently in his fingers, then slid his fingers back behind them to press them gently against Steve’s perineum and stroke him there.

Steve choked, whimpered, bent back down over Tony and tried not to pull on his hair. His eyes were glassy and his mouth wet and he mumbled, practically sobbed, “Tony, oh Tony, feels so good, thank you so much, thank you, thank you.”

“Shhh, gorgeous,” Tony said, pulling off Steve’s cock just enough that his lips still brushed the wet tip as he spoke and his breath played over the sensitive head. “My pleasure, okay?”

Steve groaned. “Oh,” he said, helpless and gasping and low, like it had been punched out of him. “Oh.” His fingers combed gently through Tony’s hair, shaking.

“Shh,” Tony said, trailing his lips down the side of Steve’s cock in a gentle, teasing kiss. “Shh.” He licked at Steve’s base, trailed his tongue around it, kissed back up, cupping his palm to roll it against Steve’s balls even as he kept his fingers stroking, pressing in at Steve’s perineum. “Mmm,” he moaned again as he closed his lips over the tip, purposefully providing the vibrations of his voice as he took Steve in, deeper and deeper. “Mmmmm,” he said, pulled off, kissed the tip, “honey.” Steve tasted a bit like honey, Tony thought in his dazed, sex-stupid and fanciful brain, all musky-sweet and heady. He pushed his fingers in a little more firmly against Steve’s perineum, and took Steve in past the back of his throat, still humming softly against him.

It was a challenge, at first, to make his throat relax like that, but he always remembered the trick of it after a second, and this time was no exception. And then Steve was in him, deep in his throat, choking him, filling him up right and so good and full, and Tony felt his mind fuzzing out again into that perfect, warm place he seemed to go when Steve in particular was in his mouth, deep down his throat and everything just clicked and Tony could just give and give just the way he wanted. He let himself slobber at his lips, spit foaming and bubbling up around Steve’s cock; you couldn’t care about that and give a good deepthroating to someone’s Steve’s size, that was for sure, just braced himself with one hand on Steve’s thigh and let himself take him as deep as he wanted, moaning around him all the while, as wantonly as he wanted to because hell, it was muffled anyway, who cared how slutty he sounded with a cock down his throat, and the vibrations would make it better for Steve.

Steve who was gasping and whining, his fingers curling helplessly in Tony’s hair, panting his name and shuddering all over. _That’s it_ , Tony wanted to say, _that’s it, Steve, honey, come on, let it go, let go, fuck my face if you want to, just let me feel it, let yourself feel it, honey, come on._ He didn’t, just stroked Steve’s thigh and that soft vulnerable place behind his balls and coaxed more of Steve’s cock into his waiting throat.

It was so good to feel Steve’s big, solid, hot length down his throat that Tony moaned involuntarily, again, at least once, bobbing his head and squeezing the muscles and trying to suck on Steve as best he could, give him some action with his tongue as he slid his cock in and out of his throat. Steve’s fingers clenched tight in his hair, and his hips rolled and quivered, but he wasn’t jerking up, wasn’t fucking Tony’s face. Tony groaned, slid his tongue under Steve’s length, tugged gently on his balls, trying to get Steve to push forward into him, but Steve just moaned and arched his back and tugged on Tony’s hair and tossed his head desperately.

“N-no, Tony, I want your pace,” he said, helpless and rough after a second of Tony rolling his hand against his balls and tugging them insistently, chest shuddering up and down dramatically.

Well, okay. Whatever Steve wanted, really, though Tony would have loved Steve to fuck his mouth, brutal and demanding and insistent. Instead, he rubbed his thumb gently against the base of Steve’s cock, scraping soft and light with his thumbnail, and pulled off just enough to give Steve’s cock a messy, eager, willing suck, kissing at the tip, before he took a big breath and swallowed and sank bank down over him and devoted himself entirely to deepthroating Steve how he deserved to be deepthroated.

Tony didn’t worry about stuff like breathing; he could catch quick little huffs of air through his nose, which was good enough for him for now. Or the ache in his jaw, or the way it made his throat feel raw and sore and stretched to have such a thick length down it, or the way it made his eyes feel wet and glassy and tears sting in them the more he made himself take it and suck and work his throat and use his tongue, because it felt good, it felt so good, and he loved that weight in his mouth, on his tongue, down his throat, making it hard to breathe, leaving him lightheaded, loved the way Steve squirmed and bucked and tried not to and turned deeply flushed, a dark pink almost red, even down into his thighs, and his fingers tugged at Tony’s hair before one came down and gripped Tony’s hand, twining his fingers with his, and that was even better, even as Tony squeezed back as firmly as he could with most of his brain and energy taken up by something else entirely.

It felt so insanely good to do this for Steve, their hands tight together and warm on Steve’s sweaty thigh, and Tony was rubbing his cock against the bed without even thinking, no idea if he was even hard, just that the desire building up in his gut and his belly and his balls and his groin needed some sort of outlet, and it felt good and he didn’t even care if he rubbed his cock raw doing it. The friction felt good against him, and the sensitive skin of his cock throbbed, and his hole felt open and wet and his thighs ached and his jaw ached and his throat ached and Tony sniffed through his nose and felt wet and achy all over and didn’t care as he drooled all over Steve’s cock as he kept him in his throat for long moments before he let himself come back up, sucked and licked and teased at him without letting him slide out of the wet warm hole of his mouth before he sank himself back down. He lost himself in it—the scrape and slide of his throbbing, prickling cock against the bed, the feeling of Steve in his mouth, the salty-sweet taste of him, the feel of his own pulse throbbing in his cock and his throat and his chest and his sore, open hole in time with the pulse in his wrist where Steve’s thumb brushed over it ever so often and made Tony hyper-aware of it, the weight and heat and little twitches of Steve’s cock in his mouth as he strove to please him, the whimpering sounds Steve made and his fingers curled in Tony’s hair and the way he begged and called Tony beautiful and wonderful and arched his hips and dug his heels in against the bed and slid them back and forth and moaned so needily, so beautifully.

Steve had said Tony’s pace, had given him permission, so Tony let himself linger, taste and treasure and suck, bringing Steve up slowly, until he was panting and whining and saying, “Tony, Tony, Tony, I love you, please, please, ah, ah, please,” voice broken and slurred and hitching, thick and helpless as Steve writhed and arched his back and tried not to thrust, and Tony pushed his knuckle in against Steve’s perineum and squeezed his balls and pulled back so Steve’s cock was in his mouth again and sucked long and hard, and Steve came with a helpless little gasp and a real arch of his back, bowing it into a perfect arc, and came, and came, and came, and Tony sucked it all down eagerly, swallowing and swallowing until it started to overflow his mouth, as Steve’s come spilled down the sides of his mouth and over his chin and Tony started to sniffle and choke, his nose and throat burning, and he still sucked Steve gently, as he came down slowly, shuddering and shivering, his cock pulsing and twitching and softening a little bit in Tony’s mouth. It felt good. Almost like Tony had come too. His mind was all soft and floating and easy, and . . . good.

Tony waited until Steve’s breath was hitching in his throat and his fingers tightened on Tony’s and he was lifting his hips and squirming and said, “Ah, ah—a-ah, Tony, it’s, it’s so, too, too much, please,” before he lifted his mouth off and away and looked up at Steve, let him see how wrecked Tony probably looked, let him get a good look at the come spattered across his face and over his lips where it had escaped him, the way he was having to keep sniffing and swallowing to keep himself from coughing and his nose from running, the drool soaking his beard and smeared over his cheeks, the probably fucked out swollen sheen of his lips and the no doubt glazed heaviness of his teary eyes.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Steve moaned, his cock twitching like he wanted to go again, and Tony dipped his head to suck obligingly at it, still looking at Steve through his eyelashes, until Steve jerked and muttered, “No! No, please, too much,” squeezing his hand until it hurt.

Tony hummed and ducked down to press a kiss against the base of it, before he pulled away and ran his hands up over Steve’s shaking thighs, finally opening his mouth to pant the way he wanted to. His lips felt hot, stinging and tingling. “Okay, big guy,” he said, letting his voice rasp and go tight and break however it wanted to. Steve whined again, his eyes going even more blown and dilated, and his back arched a little.

“Ah-hh,” he groaned, before he reached down, and touched a thumb to Tony’s stinging, rawly sensitive lips. “So swollen,” he said, and Tony nodded, let himself shudder as Steve traced them. It was like he could feel it in his cock, even though he held himself still now, ignoring the throbbing ache and prickle of the length between his legs, pressed into the bedding, the way his hips wanted to roll and work it again. “That was so good,” Steve whispered, and Tony smiled, proud and satisfied, and kissed the insides of Steve’s thighs. Steve sighed, gave a happy sounding little moan, and let his legs relax, still splayed wide, hands stroking gently through Tony’s hair, rubbing and scratching the way he liked it, until Tony wasn’t sure which of them was giving more pleasure to the other and didn’t mind.

“Glad you liked it, stud,” he murmured against Steve’s thigh, mouthing gently at the crease there where thigh met groin. He could taste Steve’s come all the way down his throat, heady and salt-sweet and welcome, and he felt a little high off it.

“I always like it,” Steve said, shaky and tremulous, and when Tony looked up there was a sweet, almost shy smile on his face. Tony felt himself flush, felt a tight twinge in his chest, and lifted Steve’s hand to press a kiss against the palm, folded it over and left soft little kisses over the knuckles.

“Well, you know I always like it,” Tony said, after a moment, with a little laugh that sounded awkward and a little self-conscious to him, too, and he squeezed Steve’s hand before he kissed over Steve’s thighs again, down over his knees. “You should lie down,” he told Steve, and Steve smiled and sort of slid down like his bones had melted and his muscles had turned into butter in the sun, all soft and easy. “That’s it,” Tony murmured, softly, and got his knees under him to kiss up Steve’s thighs again. Steve just sighed, and stroked his hair, and let Tony kiss and lick and suck at his trembling muscles, along his thighs, over the insides of them, up over his hips and across his pelvis just above his cock, before Tony leaned over him, let himself lie down against him, kissing Steve’s shoulder, leaving kisses against his neck.

Their bodies felt sweaty and hot, and stuck together a little. Steve’s nipples were hard little hot points against Tony’s skin, and Tony’s nipples were sore and sensitive in a good way themselves, prickling and aching a little against Steve’s chest. Tony’s cock felt raw and tired where it fell, soft, just beside Steve’s half-hard length, nestled in the moist, sweaty, damp cradle of their hips. Steve sighed again, and it moved his whole big chest, and Tony with it, and wrapped his arms around Tony, burying his face in his hair.

“Came pretty hard, huh?” Tony murmured in Steve’s ear, stroking his arms, his shoulders, with his hands.

“Mmm,” Steve said into his hair.

“Are you done?” Tony asked, and tried to keep any kind of expectations, any of the slight disappointment trembling in his belly, out of his voice.

“Nah,” Steve said. “Mmm. Just need a second.” He brought his knees up, stroked along Tony’s thighs and hips with his own thighs. “I’ll take care a’ya again. Get my cock back in that sweet wet hole of yours, now I’ve got it all stretched out. Be a shame to waste how open you are.”

Tony felt very warm at those words, and the back of his neck burned, but he nodded, left another kiss against Steve’s neck. “Well, it would be,” he said, and his voice came out so hoarse and deep, husky rough. “Kind of a waste, I mean. Not every day you fuck me long enough I’m this gaping, this loose. Loose enough you can slide right up in me without even stopping.”

“Mmmm,” Steve said, and it was a lot more sexual, a lot more heated this time. “Yeah.” His fingers slid down, stroked at the small of Tony’s back, and Tony shuddered over him, couldn’t help it, couldn’t help his breath going ragged or the way he squirmed. “How sore are you?”

“S not so bad,” Tony temporized a little. He honestly wasn’t sure how sore he’d be tomorrow—right now, his hole felt overworked and raw and more than a little sloppy and swollen, but he could feel a low tenderness and ache starting that went all the way up past his hips, all over inside, tight and not quite tender, that suggested he might feel it a lot more tomorrow. He didn't really care. Hurting tomorrow was fine with him, if he got his fill tonight.

“Hmm,” Steve said, and brushed his thumb in slow, teasing circles right at the top of the crease between Tony’s ass cheeks. It made him shiver. Steve’s thumb felt big and rough and tender against the damp, sweaty skin there. “Pretty sore, then, huh, Shellhead?”

“I don’t care about that,” Tony muttered against Steve’s neck. “I told you. I want you to fuck me, not . . . worry about whether I can take it.”

“But I always worry,” Steve said, simply, and kissed the top of Tony’s ear, and Tony’s throat felt tight, his chest. “You know, that, Tony. I wouldn’t be able to take you this hard and not worry. I wouldn’t want to.”

Tony’s chest felt even tighter, and he was horribly afraid there were tears in his eyes again. That was dumb, that was . . . .

“But,” Steve said, soft breath against Tony’s cheek, his other hand stroking gently through Tony’s hair, over the crown of his head, and he slid his fingers down and hooked two of them gently inside the soft ache of Tony’s well-fucked hole, making him jerk and cry out despite himself at the feel of a _touch_ there again, on the so-sensitive rim, on the needy, flinching tissues just inside, “but I know what it’s like to want to be sore and aching and hurt. I know that, Tony. So I won’t leave you hanging, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Tony said, against Steve’s neck, and his voice came out all thick and stuttering and gasping and low, and horrified him with how close it sounded to tears again. Steve shifted his fingers, and he jerked despite himself. “O-oh. I—ah!” he choked. The sounds coming out of him, his own incoherence, made him flush even as he could hardly think thanks to the overwhelming sensations of someone touching him there, stroking him there, the gentle touch against his raw insides, sensitized and hot and puffy and aching and strange.

“Tender, huh?” Steve said, and stroked his fingers gently along just inside Tony’s swollen rim, all the way around, as Tony clung to him and shuddered. “Yeah, I bet. I can feel how tender you are.” A gentle drag as Steve’s fingers left him and slid gently over the outside of that quivering pucker, a feeling of wetness following them. “Gosh, you’re raw, aren’t you? So swollen and puffy. You’re going to be on fire when you sit down tomorrow, I think.”

“’S okay,” Tony mumbled. He’d wanted exactly that, after all, had been wanting that all along, hadn't he? He didn’t want to forget this quickly.

“You’re really open, still,” Steve said, earnestly. “You open up all soft and easy. But I bet it hurts.”

“I, uh,” Tony said, tried not to groan, huffed out a breath instead, tried not to twitch or roll his hips, not sure if he wanted to push Steve off or urge his fingers inside again, and at the same time, not wanting to do either, wanting to just lie there and take it however Steve wanted it. He closed his fists against Steve’s skin as he tried to lie still, tried not to give into the urge to dig his nails into Steve’s arms just to steady himself. “Am I, I still, um, all, all wet. Down there.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Steve said, rubbing his thumb gently against that sore, puffy opening some more until Tony squirmed despite himself, rocked his hips helplessly. “There’s still some leaking outta you, and you’re all damp and sticky with come. All wet, yeah. It feels nice, Tony.”

Tony whimpered, couldn’t help it. “You—you have a lot of come, so, yeah,” he said, and it came out weird and breathy.

Steve rubbed one hand over his shoulder, down his back. “Yeah, I guess,” he said, still teasing his thumb against Tony’s sore, trembling hole. Somehow his touch made Tony prickle there, his cock ache, desire in his belly to be fucked come to life again, an eagerness to have more than a few fingers there inside him, like despite the raw ache his hole missed having that heavy hot length inside to keep it wet and stretched. Tony felt empty, and it ached and itched inside him with it, even more than his prostate throbbed and his insides felt raw and hot and overused and his muscles stretched out and sore. “And I used a whole lot of lube on you.”

“That too, I guess,” Tony muttered. “Uh, where is the lube now?”

Steve nuzzled his face against Tony’s hair, kissed his cheek, all hot and sweaty and damp, then slid his hand over the bed, seemed to search for a while, then grabbed a tube that he pushed into Tony’s hand. “Right there,” he said. “I think there’s about half left.”

“It was brand new, too,” Tony muttered, a little disgruntled. The mostly used up bottle he’d been using on himself he’d shoved to the back of his drawer—this lube was the heavy-duty silicone stuff they used when Steve was going to go to town on him. He'd bought it in preparation for this, hoping that Steve would, well, would go for it.

Steve shrugged under him. “You want to get fucked hard, I’m going to make sure I don’t tear you,” he said. “That’s how it’s gonna go.” His fingers trailed down between Tony’s legs, tugged on his balls and made him jump and choke at the unexpected feeling, his thumb still dragging over Tony’s hole, pushing at it with gentle pressure. Tony felt very open, but Steve was just nudging at him, thumbing him open but not letting his thumb actually sink inside him. “I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed this, Stark, but you open up about as easy as Fort Knox.”

“Hey,” Tony muttered, but he knew it was true. “I’m plenty open for you now, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, all breathy and soft, and his thumb brushed over Tony’s sore, prickling entrance again, almost as soft as his voice as it pushed just inside. “I guess you are.”

“Mmhmm,” Tony said, and dropped the lube, shifted enough to slide his hand down, pull his own ass cheek to the side and open himself up for that softly probing touch despite the way it made his sensitive skin tingle and ache. “Open nice and wide and easy. Right, Steve?”

“Right,” Steve muttered, thick and husky in his ear, as his thumb sank into him, rubbed gently inside and, yeah, okay, Tony could feel the sticky squelch in there as he did, so he was still plenty wet and, uh, full of come.

“A-ah,” he said, couldn’t quite keep it back, before he swallowed again, scooted down a little so he could trail kisses over Steve’s neck, his collarbone, down over his pecs, trying not to gasp as that pushed Steve’s thumb further up into him. “So we’d better take advantage of it, right?” he said against Steve’s salty sweat-damp skin, and Steve gave another humming noise of agreement, sounding a little far away. “So,” Tony said, and took a deep breath, “why don’t you get both your thumbs in there, big guy, and spread me a little?”

“I,” Steve said, then swallowed, then, “Tony, are you sure?” But his other hand was already sliding down, fingers resting sticky and unsure where they skimmed the curve of Tony’s ass cheek.

“Plenty sure,” Tony purred, hearing his voice rasp thickly, even though he wasn’t all that sure, not sure how much it would hurt, not sure of the uncertain squirm his insides gave at thinking about being that open, but wanting it at the same time.

Steve brushed a kiss over Tony’s forehead, then his other thumb was there inside him, too, hooking against his rim, pulling him open. Steve rubbed his thumbs gently against the throbbing, prickling flesh of Tony’s hole, and Tony gasped, groaned. He would have thought it would hurt—had been afraid it would—but Steve was being gentle, and it didn’t, really, like the renewed touches were getting him used to it again, dulling the over-sensitized ache into something more prickling and raw, still a little like salt on raw skin, but almost pleasant, aching and needy, at the same time. He felt very open, and yeah, wet, as a little more come or lube or whatever it was trickled out of him.

“Ah,” he said then, then added, “s-see? Nice and—and open.”

“Very nice, Tony,” Steve murmured against his cheek. “So, so nice, so good for me.” His thumbs slid along inside him, just feeling, making Tony tremble and shudder, then spread him open a little more. Tony groaned, feeling air, warm from the combined warmth of his skin and Steve’s, but still cold against the heat of him inside, on the sensitive flesh.

“Does it feel good?” Tony prompted, pressing his forehead against Steve’s shoulder and trying to catch his breath.

“You always feel good,” Steve said, sounding a little dreamy, “love having my fingers in you.”

“Mmm,” Tony said, pleased at that despite the throbbing ache. And that wasn’t bad, at all, he just wasn’t sure about how goddamn needy, how empty, it made him feel.

“But isn’t that my line?” Steve murmured, ducking his head down so his lips brushed gently against Tony’s forehead as he spoke. “Are you feeling okay? Does it feel good?”

“Y-yeah,” Tony managed, swallowing hard. That needy prickle kicked up a notch, throbbing in his hole, around his rim, like an itch under his skin, aching in his cock and balls. He felt really loose and really open and really empty. “It feels good.”

“Sure it does,” Steve said, soft against his temple, “I bet it feels great. And you so sore, too.”

“O-okay,” Tony said, “maybe not _good_ , but—but I don’t want you to, to s-stop, it’s like.” _Ugh, stop it, stop stammering, Stark._ “It, uh, it _aches_ , okay? And throbs, and—and prickles a little, but it doesn’t feel bad, it’s a good . . . good not-good, and I like it, so. Uh. Ugh. I mean. I mean, you can keep touching me.” He swallowed, but he needed to tell Steve, right? “I want, uh, I want more,” he managed to get out in a low, thick mumble.

“Thank you,” Steve said, all soft and sincere, and ducked his head down, brushed a kiss along Tony’s cheekbone. “I like it when you’re honest with me. All right?” His thumbs moved, pressing a little more, and Tony groaned, trembled, felt the urge to rock his hips forward, rub his cock against Steve’s thigh, and Steve had been so understanding of the not coming thing that Tony even let himself, grinding his stupid half-hard cock against Steve’s hip, and Steve sucked in his breath.

“A-all right,” he managed, all breathy and ragged. “Honest. I can do that. I—I can be honest. Steve. I can.”

“Mmhmm,” Steve said, still stroking the inside of Tony’s stretched, worked-over rim with his thumbs and making him shake.

“Speaking of being honest, honestly, your thumbs feel huge when they’re in me like that,” Tony said, with an uncertain little laugh. “God, Steve.”

“Your hole’s just a little overwhelmed,” Steve said.

“You can say that again,” Tony muttered.

“Spread your legs for me,” Steve said, and Tony didn’t question it at all, just did it, because Steve had asked. And then Steve’s thumbs slid out of him, and two fingers of each hand slid into him instead, and hooked him open, and Tony gasped, whimpered on a breath and couldn’t help it. “Shh, shhh,” Steve said, and stroked the outside of Tony’s hole with his thumbs, which kicked up the throbbing prickle to whole new level of needy, wanting ache, and made tears spring to Tony’s eyes even as he hid his face against Steve’s chest and tried to breathe through it and his hole leaked wetly against Steve’s hands. “I know, but you’re so nice and open now, aren’t you?”

Tony didn’t respond in words, wasn’t sure if he could, just reached up to link his arms around Steve’s neck and rocked into his fingers, against his hip, helplessly encouraging. The way that made Steve’s fingers press on him inside, the tight, prickling ache of the sensations that spent spiraling through him—he gasped, moaned against the skin of Steve’s chest. He couldn’t believe four of Steve’s fingers fit inside him so easily, even though he knew Steve’s cock had stretched him out more than enough, stretched him out and left him gaping. But there was hardly even any feeling of stretch, despite the insistent ache that left him gasping and trembling and rocking helplessly, whether to get more of it or escape it he wasn’t sure, and that felt so—so extreme. Four of Steve’s fingers were probably just about comparable to his cock, though, so—yeah.

After an endless while of rocking and aching and the press of Steve’s fingers against his walls, tugging his rim open so Tony leaked and dripped come and it oozed out of him until he was damp, Steve took pity on him, or something, and tugged his fingers back out. Tony was left open and fluttering and wet, trickling new sticky little streams of it with how newly wide and exposed he’d been left, hitching helpless breaths against Steve’s chest and gasping. Steve put one hand on the small of Tony’s back and said, soft and breathless himself, “Breathe, Tony.”

Tony whimpered, laid his cheek and the side of his forehead against Steve’s strong pectoral muscle and tried to obey, but his chest was all seized up and he couldn’t stop panting.

“Shh,” Steve said, brought a hand up and rubbed at Tony’s chest, down over his belly. “Deep breath, so I can feel it under my hand.”

Tony found himself obeying. His eyes slid closed. Breathing was easier after that, as he lay there, his cheek pressed into Steve’s chest.

“I thought you’d come back up a little,” Steve said, and his fingers slid gently through Tony’s sweat-mussed hair, “but you didn’t, really, did you?”

“Sometimes I can be pr’tty coherent, an’, and still be under,” Tony slurred into Steve’s chest, and was surprised himself at how slurring and thick and garbled-husky his words came out sounding. “I—I didn’t mean to fuzz out on you, I’m s-sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve said. “I wanted you under. I like you under, sweetheart, don’t apologize for that. When I told you to do whatever I said—well, I thought under was what you probably needed. And you . . .” he hesitated, and Tony could feel his skin heating, underneath him. After a moment, Steve squirmed just a little. “You said whatever I wanted,” he muttered, low, under his breath. “And that was what I wanted. To see you gone on it. Past gone.”

Tony slid his hands up into Steve’s hair, nuzzled against his chest until he found one perky sweet nipple, all flushed and red, and curled his tongue around it, sucked on it until Steve was gasping, squirming even more under him, making those sweet, helpless sounds and bucking his shoulders, before he left off and pressed kisses up to Steve’s shoulder. “Mmm,” Steve said, and rubbed, snuggled his cheek over Tony’s forehead, bussed little kisses over the sweaty skin. “Mmmm, ah, Tony.”

“Well, I’m there,” Tony mumbled, leaving kisses over Steve’s shoulder, up his neck, wet and hot and sticky-slick with his tongue and lips already damp and slick from the drool spilling out over them. “Yeah, I was a little more—not with the talking, earlier, but it’s not like—” He was still fuzzy, and the inside of his head felt soft, permissive, giving. He wanted whatever Steve wanted, wanted to please him so badly he ached inside with that more persistently than the throb of his used hole and useless, frustrated cock. “I’m still—I haven’t come up at all, I don’t think. I’d do whatever you wanted, Steve. Please. Please, tell me what you want, I’ll do whatever you want.” He was hitching his cock along Steve’s thigh, against his hip, he realized, but couldn’t stop himself. “Please, I want to . . .”

“Shh,” Steve said, and wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist, stilled him with one hand on his hip. “I hear you. Shush, shhh.”

Tony gasped, quieted himself with an effort of will.

“You want to do whatever I want?” Steve asked, sliding one hand through Tony’s hair again. It felt so good. Tony found his head lolling against Steve’s shoulder.

“Please,” he said again. “Whatever you want, honey. Please.”

“That’s good, Tony,” Steve said, and swallowed, Tony could hear it. “That’s so good.”

“It is?” Tony asked. Really? Was it really okay? “It’s okay that I’m under? You said. You said—it’s okay that I’m so—but it’s okay that I’m under? Really?”

“’Course it is,” Steve said, and his fingers were so gentle on Tony’s back, drawing patterns, squeezing gently at the bruises on his hips until Tony moaned and rocked his hips forward again, wanting more of the tender flare of pain that came from that gentle squeeze. “I put you there. Wouldn’t have done it otherwise, yeah?” He dragged his fingernails, short and barely there, but still enough to create just a tiny scrape of sensation, all the way down Tony’s back from his shoulders to the curve of his ass, and smiled as Tony gasped and squirmed and rocked helplessly under the touch, one that felt so amazing he almost couldn’t believe it. “It’s so good, Tony. You’re so good for me, aren’t you?”

Tony wished he hadn’t phrased it as a question, found himself ducking his face down again, his cheeks heating. He never knew if he was really good, or how he was supposed to answer. What if Steve didn’t want to hear him say he was good, brag about himself that way? What if he was only supposed to listen when Steve said it, not agree or anything? What if saying he was good made him not good anymore, made him a bad boy instead of Steve’s good boy? When he was under like this, he thought, worried about things like that. He liked it better when Steve just told him he was good, and he could revel in it, the unfamiliarity of feeling that he was actually okay. When Steve’s hands slid down over his thighs, then back up, he shuddered, spread his legs, and was rewarded by Steve stroking gently over the most intimate parts of his skin, from the tops of his thighs inside and up to his hole, but not pushing inside, just stroking the sweaty skin at the curves of Tony’s ass, the skin of his crease up to his hole but not over.

“Well, you are good,” Steve told him, whispered it in his ear. “You’re so good. Look at you, spreading your legs so nice and easy. I love how you do that, spread your legs so easy whenever I want you to; I barely have to touch you and you’re already there. You’re so attentive, so responsive. So sweet, so good.”

Tony was hiding his face for a different reason now, his breath coming short, feeling warm and hot and glowing all over, the praise settling like a soft, glowing ember in his gut to make him warm all over. “Please,” he gasped, low and helpless against Steve’s skin, shivering at the slow, gentle, intimate touches, and didn’t know what he was asking for.

“You’re so good, Tony,” Steve told him again, and Tony whimpered, squeezed Steve close. “Please what?”

“I . . .” his voice was hoarse. “I don’t know,” he whispered, low, against Steve’s chest. “Just . . . .”

“You really are good, Tony,” Steve told him, sweet and sincere. “You’re so good, and I love you, and you please me so much. You’re so generous.”

Tony gasped, almost sobbed out a breath before he got control of himself again. “Love, uh, um, you, you too,” he stammered stupidly, his mouth all mush. “I, I mean. Can I . . . Can I . . . just. Just let me please you.”

“You are pleasing me,” Steve said, stroking the insides of Tony’s thighs with his fingertips again. Tony shivered under the gentle touches, kept his legs spread because Steve wanted them that way and let the soft, gentle touches make him shiver and flush all over. “But what did you want to do?”

“I—I was thinking . . .” why did his voice keep catching and dying in his throat like this? Why did he keep stammering like an idiot? “I was thinking I could get you hard again, maybe with my mouth, if you want, and then, maybe, I could uh, try riding you again. But I might not have a lot of strength for it, I mean, to do that, so if you helped me out—but I’m looser now so it won’t be as rough, to um, to do it, I mean. I know I couldn’t earlier, but I think—I think I could. Maybe—if you helped, I mean, maybe—if you could. I—”

“Hey, hey, yeah, Tony, shh,” Steve said, one hand coming up and curling around the back of Tony’s neck, pulling his face close into his shoulder. Tony gasped, his breath hitching in his throat, and let his arms curl around Steve’s sides, touch softly against his back and curve in against his skin. He felt like he was shaking. “That sounds great, that would be wonderful,” Steve said. “Sure, I’ll help you. Shhh.” His hand slid down over Tony’s back, and Tony shivered under it. “I’d love to help you ride me.” He squeezed gently at Tony’s neck, and Tony felt that flood of belonging again, of safety, of command and ownership. Steve had him, nothing else mattered, Steve’s hand strong on the back of his neck, controlling him, spanning it completely, warm rough skin sweat-sticky against his as Steve’s thumb rubbed gently along his hairline. Tony shivered, feeling weak and helpless the way he was laid out over Steve, legs splayed out over him and spread to the sides, face and chest resting against Steve so all his weight was on him, his leaking ass feeling very open and very wet where Steve had been playing with him, where he was exposed with his legs spread out wide. He wasn’t quite sure how to start to move, until Steve’s thumb shifted to stroke under his ear before he moved both his hands down to Tony’s hips. After that, Tony didn’t really have to think about moving at all—Steve took care of it for him entirely, with one hand on his hip and one on his shoulder, until Tony was lying between Steve’s legs.

He didn’t really feel like a lot of his body would respond if he tried to make it at the moment, but Tony figured he had a few seconds to get that back under control, and Steve’s dick was right there in front of him, agreeably starting to get hard again already. Tony raised a hand, let his fingers trail over the tender, flushed pink skin, smiling to himself as Steve sucked in his breath and his hips twitched. Tony firmed the grip of his fingers and encircled Steve’s cock with his hand, stroking up and down once, twice, three times, twisting his palm gently but firmly over the head. Steve’s cock was nice and slick, still, partly because he always got beautifully wet, leaking precome like a faucet, and partly because of the lingering traces of saliva and come and lube from fucking Tony’s mouth and his ass in quick succession.

“Tony,” Steve said, and his voice was shaking, which gave Tony a nice hit of satisfaction. His hand came down, trembling, stroked shakily through Tony’s hair, and Tony hummed and leaned into the touch to his hair. “You’re sure you’re okay with this? You remember I was inside you earlier, right? And we haven’t been using a condom, or—or anything, and—I know I should have, uh, reminded you a little bit more before last time, but—”

Like they ever used condoms. Tony had asked Steve if he wanted to, right off, the first time they’d had sex, years ago now, but Steve had just said he couldn’t get any kind of disease, and since Tony couldn’t get pregnant, there wasn’t any reason to worry about it, and besides that, Steve had admitted, blushing and shamefaced, he really preferred going bare. They’d pulled out the latex a couple times for Tony to give Steve a rimjob, and a few times Tony had felt weird about going to ass to mouth without one, but that was about the size of it. Still, it was sweet of Steve to worry about it, to ask, when Tony knew perfectly well Steve didn’t give a rat’s ass about the messy bodily functions that bothered Tony sometimes.

“Shh, ‘s fine, handsome,” he mumbled, and the words were slurring again, but he didn’t care enough to straighten them out. “’m good. Don’ mind. Cleaned up for this anyway.” It was good, actually, sucking Steve off after he’d been in Tony’s ass had made him feel all—all, he didn’t know, filthy, used and dirty, licking his own mess off of Steve’s cock, the come Steve had left inside him and everything else dripping out of the wet, messy, aching hole between his legs. It was good. It wasn’t quite . . . degrading, exactly, but it could be, if Steve pushed it a little, and he liked that, it felt—hot, or something. Normally he wouldn’t, maybe, he wasn’t sure, but right now, he really—did like that.

Steve’s thumb stroked along under Tony’s chin, against the scratchiness of his stubble, almost petting him. “Okay, Tony,” he said. “Okay, sweetheart.” His fingers slid back, tangled in Tony’s hair, at the base of his neck, and curled in. It gave him a good grip on Tony’s head, especially as he pushed him forward toward Steve’s cock. “Mind if I . . .?”

The implication was obvious. “Go to town,” Tony said, feeling a jumping twist of heat in his stomach at the thought, and leaned in, let his face nestle in against the base of Steve’s cock, facial hair rubbing against Steve’s balls as he flattened his tongue against Steve’s base and dragged it up, licking and sucking gently with his tongue and his teeth against the soft, sensitive, musky skin there until Steve was dripping wet. There was a sudden, surprising little burst of pain as Tony opened his mouth and realized how sore his jaw felt, but he sucked in a breath through his nose, blew it out, and pushed past it. Every breath Tony took smelled like Steve, musky and thick with sex but still buttery-sweet and sunshine-warm, like vanilla and sweat and spunk all at the same time. The taste of him was tangy, salty sweet and sweaty-thick, musky here where Tony’s nose was practically pressed into Steve’s damp blond curls. When he tried to back up, to pull his head away, mostly just curious to see if Steve would really do it, Steve’s fingers clenched and he pushed him in tighter against his cock, so that Tony’s nose was sliding along his length and his wet mouth was right against Steve’s balls and he couldn’t smell anything but Steve. Couldn’t breathe in anything but Steve.

But that was okay, because like this all Tony felt like he wanted to be able to breathe was Steve, so he opened his mouth and sucked and kissed at Steve’s balls, since it seemed convenient with his mouth right there, getting his hand up enough to keep rubbing it over Steve’s tip, twisting around him, so the stimulation wouldn’t fall off too much. Steve moaned, groaned in a way that sounded broken, and his head fell back, his back arched, and his hips came up, pushing not quite roughly against Tony’s mouth—he couldn’t see, but he could tell because of how he felt Steve moving under him, and he felt a little thrilling buzz of triumph, because getting Steve to react like that, to forget himself that much, that was something else. He nibbled a little, experimentally, along Steve’s balls, and was rewarded by another deep, husky, broken groan and an unthinking lift of Steve’s hips, his fingers tightening at the back of Tony’s neck and holding his head down so he was pressed tight and unyielding into Steve’s groin.

Tony moaned himself in appreciation and encouragement and opened his mouth, sucking one of Steve’s balls into his mouth and letting his tongue play over it. They stayed like that for a good few minutes, Steve holding Tony’s head down and pushing his hips up unconsciously so that Tony’s mouth and tongue slipped and slid over his balls as he sucked on them, first one, then the other, messily having them shoved into his mouth and his face rubbed up and down Steve’s wet cock, Steve’s pelvis knocking roughly into Tony’s chin. Tony didn’t struggle, licked and sucked as best he could and enjoyed how Steve was using him, using his mouth, gripping and kneading at the base of his neck, letting his saliva drip out of his mouth and smear over Steve’s scrotum and the base of his cock and into his soft curling pubic hair and all over his own face, letting the heat of it, the warm, welcome feeling of being used and held in position, gather in his belly and spread through his own groin, up into his chest and all along his limbs.

Finally, Steve sighed and his hand relaxed just a little bit on the base of Tony’s neck, and Tony used the opportunity not to pull away, but to drag his head up and get his mouth settled over the tip of Steve’s cock to suck. Steve moaned, gave a tight, low, whimpering groan, all husky sex, and brought his knees up on either side of Tony’s head, rocking up into it so that Tony almost choked, but was able to sway back and take it. Steve’s hands came up, cradled his face, more gently than before, brushed sweaty hair back off Tony’s forehead and cheeks where it was clinging in sweat-slick tendrils, and Tony moaned, closed his eyes and sucked with more dedication, feeling warmth twist in his chest at the tender gesture.

They stayed like that for a long while, Tony willingly sucking on Steve’s cock, eagerly bobbing his head up and down and playing the tip and sides with his tongue before he’d pull back again to suck on the tip like a lollipop, and Steve groaning and rocking under his touch, arching up and falling back, his hands tangling and stroking through Tony’s hair, sometimes gripping at the back of his head and kneading like he needed to work out the pleasure somehow. Tony could feel his mind stuttering out slow, sinking into that thick toffee-sweet molasses feeling, warm and slow, as he lost himself in it again, in licking and sucking. His jaw throbbed horribly, aching and sore, a constant pounding ache, but as he ignored it the pain became part of the whole thing for him, the feeling, all part of the weight of Steve’s cock in his mouth and the sweet thick sex smell of him and the way his little husky groans went straight to the back of Tony’s brain and made him feel good, so, so good, like he was really doing something right.

When Steve finally pulled him away, Tony didn’t really remember why he’d gone down on Steve in the first place, didn’t really remember a thing except that Steve was there and how much he loved giving him head, how much he loved sucking his cock, his mouth wet and open and smeared with drool as he panted and looked up at Steve and tried to get his mouth on him again. Steve’s thumb slid into Tony’s mouth, stroked over his tongue and caught at the side of Tony’s mouth, at the hinge of his lips, tugging a little and making Tony moan before he thought enough to close his lips and suck at it. Steve’s hips jerked at that, and Tony shifted a little, wanting to get his mouth back on Steve’s cock through the haze in his brain, before Steve’s hand slid down and gripped at Tony’s damp, sweaty ass cheek and squeezed, and his other hand slid away from Tony’s mouth and helped pull him up against Steve’s chest. Tony wondered at how sore and strange he felt, the strange wet slick feeling of his asshole and between his legs as Steve pulled him up and brought him in against his chest, and wondered if this was how people with vaginas felt when they were really turned on as he felt his thighs slide wetly against each other, before his legs were pushed apart once again as Steve brought him in to straddle his torso.

Steve pushed himself up on one arm, then got himself sitting up against the headboard and tugged Tony in, and Tony groaned, his head spinning and feeling his eyes go wide, hardly seeing anything, as he slid down Steve slightly and he felt the tug in his wet, sloppy asshole and the way that pulled on loose, overworked muscles until he felt it all the way up inside him, he didn’t know how far. He ended up straddling Steve’s hips, feeling a strained ache in his own spread thighs with the way Steve’s body kept his hips open, but then Steve was kissing him, both hands on his neck and the back of his head and in his hair, and Tony didn’t care about anything else, not the way he could feel his pounding heart in the beating throb of his asshole, or the soreness in his hips or his jaw or anywhere, or the uneven quickness of the way his heart was beating and his breathing was heaving, because Steve’s mouth was on his, and he was kissing him sweetly, deeply, tongue soft and gentle in Tony’s mouth, coaxing and tender. Steve’s hand was gentle and big and warm against the side of Tony’s neck, right under his ear, his jaw, and he could feel his pulse throbbing under it, and Steve’s thumb came down and rubbed right there, against his pulse, in time with it, and Tony whimpered into his mouth, and Steve murmured soothing, soft, incoherent things against his mouth, the side of his mouth, his cheek, his lips, stroking his hair with his other hand until Tony pressed into the kiss needily all over again, letting his elbows rest on Steve’s shoulders and his hands cup and squeeze at the back of Steve’s neck.

It was a long time before he thought about anything other than kissing, but then he became aware of Steve’s hard cock hot where it rested against Tony’s thigh, and all at once he remembered that he’d wanted to ride him, and groaned, rocked his hips and tried to shift, bring his legs together and push down and back to take him inside. His hand slipped sweatily on the back of Steve’s neck, and Steve mumbled something, pressing a kiss to Tony’s temple, and reached down, one hand resting on Tony’s hip as the other caught and curved around his own cock, bringing it up to rub teasingly at Tony’s loose, wet hole. Tony groaned, because he could feel the soft, slick slide, the trembling hitches as the muscles jumped and fluttered out of control at the unexpected pressure, the way he felt himself drip even more come as the pressure opened him again. It made him feel very puffy and loose and open, and it wasn’t a feeling he was used to.

“Shh, shhh,” Steve mumbled, kissing down the side of Tony’s face, along his neck, his breath hot and wet. His hand pushed gently at the small of Tony’s back, steadying him. “I’ve gotcha,” he whispered. “Yeah?”

Tony nodded, feeling his eyes prickle and sting, still trying to shift himself enough to sink back on Steve’s cock but just succeeding in rubbing his sensitive, throbbing asshole along the shaft, which felt strange, made him tingle and ache and at the same time throb with want to have Steve inside him again. He ached, itched, to have Steve’s solid, hot length and weight inside him again, filling him up, even if it hurt, maybe especially if it hurt. His hand slid on the back of Steve’s neck again. He felt it as Steve fumbled for the lube and opened the cap with one hand, the other staying on Tony’s back, and then his wide, blunt fingers were pushing at Tony’s hole, making him gasp and almost sob out a breath as they pushed inside him, wet and slick and oddly cool with the lubricant. It didn’t hurt, not really, and Steve was being gentle, but the feeling as Steve slid his fingers up into him, slicking him again even though Tony didn’t really need it, he didn’t think, spreading the loose, slippery fluid all around inside him, was beyond overwhelming, not pain, not pleasure, just. Overwhelming, helpless and intimate and overwhelming. He was panting and breathless all over again by the time Steve pulled his fingers out of Tony’s newly dripping hole and Tony felt him slicking his own cock with the lube before he capped it and tossed it away.

“Lift up,” Steve murmured against his neck, and put gentle pressure on his back, “with your thighs, oh, that’s it, good, Tony, that’s so good, now lean back a little—that’s it, that’s right, now sink back down, can you do that for me—oh, God, that’s good—ahhhh.” His words broke off into a gasping groan as Tony got himself centered and slid down on him, taking him inside. He was loose enough and wet enough, especially with the newly applied lube and the way Steve’s fingers had just nudged him even more open and ready, that it was an incredibly easy slide, though he felt every inch of it with a vividness that surprised him even though he’d expected it to hurt, had him gasping and bracing himself on Steve’s shoulders, head hanging down as he stuttered and struggled for air. Every square millimeter of him inside seemed sensitized, raw and alive to the slightest touch, and Steve’s hot firmness sliding over him inside and pressing into his walls felt overwhelming, the whole world narrowing down to just that feeling, that pressure of Steve’s heavy length inside where Tony was loose and wet and open for him. He felt his muscles seize up and try to squeeze down, fluttering helplessly as worked over as they were, and whimpered as it sent the intensity up another notch past overwhelming.

When he came back to himself, his mouth was slack and open and felt wet, and Steve’s hand was on the back of his neck, stroking, combing through his hair, as he murmured to him softly, other hand sliding up and down his back, and Tony felt very aware of the quivering muscles in his thighs, of every single millimeter of Steve inside him, from base to tip, of the way he’d somehow taken Steve in to the root without even realizing, the fullness and heat inside him as his body throbbed around it, the sore pressure at the tender ache that was the rim of his hole where it took Steve’s gigantic length inside and where it rested a little painfully in the cradle of Steve’s hips and thighs. And now it felt deep, really felt deep, Tony had thought Steve felt deep before, but now he fully realized how shallow those strokes had actually been. Tony felt himself groan, shaking, and Steve’s fingers curled gently through his hair, stroked over his spine, and he murmured, “Shh, shh, that’s it, you’re good. Feel how easy you opened up for me?”

Tony nodded, unsteadily, let his forehead rest against Steve’s shoulder as he tried to breathe.

“Mmm,” Steve said. His fingers stroked down over the back of Tony’s neck, and it felt so good, so good. “Open so wide, feels so good to be inside you all loose and slick and wet like this. So good to let me in so easy, Tony. Did you miss me?”

Tony nodded, because _yes_ , that was exactly it, exactly how he’d felt, but he had no idea how to put that into words without it being humiliating, not sure how to say it right, so he just tried to bring his legs together enough to squeeze down on Steve, feeling his knees bite into the sides of Steve’s waist. Steve sucked in his breath and shuddered under him, his hips jerking up and making Tony gasp and shudder as freshly overwhelming sensation shot through him all up and down Steve’s cock as that heavy, thick, solid length jerked up inside him. It hurt, or rather, it ached, not exactly hurt, with a slow dull throb and that sense of heavy, aching fullness, but he had missed it, the feeling of pressure, the ache, the feeling of being _opened_ and _filled_ so entirely by that heavy weight invading him in a place that hadn’t been intended to be so stretched or so opened or so filled. It made him feel almost—backwards, inverted, like his code had been partly rewritten to accept this insistent, demanding invasion, Steve shaping him for the purpose of being fucked, and the thought made him moan, his mouth feeling wet as spit kept sliding out of his slack lips, sweat prickled on his forehead.

“You’re so good,” Steve murmured against his ear, and Tony moaned and reveled in it and rocked back and forth and enjoyed the feel of Steve too hot and big and overwhelming inside him, waking all his sore, quivering insides to life around that heavy cock, as Steve dragged his short nails up and down over Tony’s back and shoulders, the soft gentle scratching making Tony’s entire back feel alive under the touch, goosepimpling all over. Tony’s whole body felt like it was clenching down on him, quivering around him, waves of sensation going through him as his hole and inner muscles tried to tighten and released in a helpless, unconscious movement that he was sure felt to Steve like his body was softly mouthing at him, all wet, sticky, gripping heat and slack muscles and not much else. “Oh, that’s it,” Steve groaned, and his hand circled at the small of Tony’s back, fingertips trailing over the slick, sweaty skin. “God, that feels so good, Tony, like you’re sucking me in, like I’m inside that wonderful mouth of yours. You feel so soft and hot and—and wet.”

Tony moaned, pressed his forehead more firmly against Steve’s shoulder and thought about moving. It seemed strangely complicated, all the muscles in his legs and thighs and hips that would have to move, the whole weight of his ass and his torso and his shoulders and his head and his arms. Steve’s hands came down and settled at his hips, squeezed, and that made it easier, because when he pushed with his thighs and his knees Steve lifted him, and his body felt much lighter lifted by Steve. Steve slid smoothly inside him, and Tony was right; this was much easier now he was so loose, he could actually do it now, especially with the extra lube, even though his legs and thighs were so aching and tired. He braced his hands on Steve’s shoulders and let himself fall into a rhythm rocking up and sinking back down over Steve’s length.

It took energy he barely had anymore, and that and the overwhelming sensation that came from every slide of Steve’s cock against his sensitized inner muscles left Tony barely aware of anything else. He couldn't care that his mouth was hanging open, or the wet sounds his ass made, sloppy and squelching, with every movement; he was lost in the rhythm of it, the way it made him feel, sore and overwhelmed and achingly glorious, his whole body shuddering and shaking and clenching on Steve’s cock. It felt good, and Tony didn’t know how long he lost himself in doing it, his hands squeezing at Steve’s shoulders, his body landing with a jolting little thump every time he let himself slide back down to the base and felt Steve’s balls there against his ass. The overwhelming sensation had him tilting his head back, yelping and whimpering in a way he thought would have been crying out if he had more strength, more breath for it, and Steve leaned in, licked and kissed and bit gently at the cords of Tony’s neck until he was shivering with it, not hard enough to leave any marks, but enough that Tony felt very aware of every place on his throat Steve had left damp and tingling. The bite against his spine still ached and throbbed every time he flexed his shoulder muscles, sweat slipping down his back and making it sting.

Eventually he started going numb inside, inured to the slick slide and the heavy weight bumping up inside him, spreading his slickly loose, obliging muscles wide with every thrust, and he welcomed that because it made it easier to speed up, to jerk up and back down again with eager, jolting force that left him with no more than a low, spreading, localized ache now that he wasn’t feeling it as hard. He bounced on Steve’s cock and loved every second of it, even as his thighs ached and threatened to give way and his breath came harsh and gasping in his chest. “Are you going to come?” he managed to gasp, and ducked his head, kissed and licked up Steve’s chest as he slowed down, rocking over him, up and back, up and back, like he was riding a bucking bull machine at Coney Island. Which he had only done once, as a stupid teenager out with his college friends and halfway drunk, and this was more fun anyway.

“Mmm,” Steve groaned. His chest was sweaty and felt very warm and looked very red under Tony’s tongue. He nosed over to a nipple and licked at it before he closed his lips and sucked, scraping it just gently with his teeth, and Steve gave a beautiful little gasping shout and bucked up into his mouth. Steve was almost always quiet in bed—making him forget himself was an accomplishment, and Tony reveled in it, even as Steve’s cock jerked up and slammed into his loosened, aching hole, even looser now that he’d been going to town on Steve for the past little while. His thighs ached and felt very wet, sticky-slick, in the cradle of Steve’s hips where they’d been knocking together every time Tony slid back down and more come and lube slid out of him and made that hot, sticky little pool of liquid caught between their bodies. “A-ah, God, God, Jesus, Mary, and _Joseph_ , that feels good, Tony. Tony. Ah.”

“Mmm,” Tony hummed around his nipple, brought one hand up, feeling strange and detached and clumsy, and flicked clumsy fingers that felt far away from his body (which mostly was his asshole and his spasming inner channel and his hips and his tired thighs, as far as brain was concerned) over the little red nub, rubbing gently as he turned his mouth to the other and gave it the same treatment, sucking and rubbing with tongue and teeth. He rocked up and back on Steve a little harder, making Steve whimper and cry out, his hands going tighter than tight on Tony’s hips and making older bruises flare furiously into pain as he left new ones. That was good; Steve breaking out the old Irish oaths was a good sign, Steve gripping him that tight and painful was a good sign, too. He braced his other hand on Steve’s side and just tried to keep it up for as long as he could, before the strain and ache of overused muscles building up in his thighs became a little too much, so he rocked up onto his knees again and dragged his mouth up over Steve’s chest, over his pecs to press his face in against his neck and wrap his arms around his shoulders so it changed the movement, at least, letting Steve almost slide out of him each time before he slid back down. The slick, wet sounds were very loud now, so that even Tony’s hazy mind couldn’t help but register them, and he knew he was flushing, pressing his face in tightly against Steve’s neck partly to somehow help, hide him from his own self-consciousness at the loud slaps and wet sounds of suction. He dug his nails into the back of Steve’s neck and held on tight and it wasn’t too long at all before Steve’s hands were spasming tight with deep, flaring, vivid pain against his hips, jerking him back down, and Steve was slamming up into him with a tight cry that he buried in a bite against Tony’s shoulder as he came.

It flooded Tony’s insides with heat, and sent pain bursting along his shoulder against the bone and through his hips under Steve’s tight grip, and he cried out and felt light explode behind his eyes as he fell forward against Steve himself, not really like an orgasm, because the buildup of pleasure wasn’t there and his cock really wasn’t feeling much, but some kind of peak all the same, a dizzying, breathtaking response to the sensation Steve had sent bursting through him, that left him lightheaded and dizzy and lethargic, and his stomach muscles hitching as they contracted and released. He could barely breathe, and Steve was still grinding inside his ass, thrusting through his aftershocks. Tony was happy to let him, loosened the muscles of his legs and let Steve jerk him up and down and back and forth by the hips. By the time Steve was done, Tony’s insides felt raw and oddly numb at the same time, and very wet, and every time Steve moved inside him there was a wet, slick, squelching noise. Tony was barely aware, though not as half-unconscious or as fuzzed out as he’d felt earlier, really, just incapable of moving or responding, somehow, as Steve came down from it, gasping into his shoulder, then rubbed his thumb over the sore, throbbing bite mark he’d left.

“That’s going to bruise,” Steve gasped out, and Tony nodded lethargically. He didn’t mind; his shirts would cover it, and he liked having marks no one else knew about. He’d only have minded if it had been awkward or difficult to cover it, and didn’t Steve know that? Steve should know that, Tony thought, he thought he knew that. He should know. He opened his mouth to tell him, but he couldn’t seem to find the words, and his mouth and tongue felt stupid and fat and slow. If he’d been in a peak before, now he was in a valley, all sluggish lassitude and heavy, sensation-thick stupor.

Steve kissed him again, anyway, and Tony let go of the words, let his mouth fall open, let him kiss him deeply. Steve’s hand came up, held his head for it, and Tony was happy about that, because he always liked it, having Steve’s hand bracing the back of his neck, so warm and steady, as Steve gently slipped his tongue into his mouth. Steve kissed him deep and hard, and didn’t seem to mind that Tony couldn’t seem to respond much beyond letting him in and sucking without much coordination at his tongue, his fingers tightening and digging into Steve’s shoulders as he held on. When Steve coaxed his mouth open a little wider, and his thumb dug in against Tony’s jaw, he couldn’t help a whimper at the soreness, remembering just how wide he’d kept his mouth to suck Steve off twice, and Steve pulled back at that, feathered damp, wet kisses over Tony’s lips and along his jaw as if in apology, warm and soft and lingering and making Tony’s skin tingle with their touches, rubbing his thumb along it damply.

“Sorry, I bet you’re sore, sorry,” he whispered, and Tony moaned and shook his head, to tell him not to worry, but couldn’t think to respond more than that. Steve kissed his jaw again and went back to his lips, and Tony hummed, pleased, and leaned into it again, opening his mouth willingly to welcome Steve in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some discussion of various kinks and types of play in this chapter, and I'd just like to point out that everything said here is the point of view or perspective of the characters involved, not my own--like Tony brings some kinks up because he thinks they're weird, or because he thinks Steve will think they're weird, really, but that doesn't necessarily reflect my views on them at all. It's really just Tony having hangups about sex and having felt dismissed for some of his desires in the past. There's also some discussion on whether or not Tony would really use his safeword even he needed to (Steve doubts it), but let me assure you that Steve is keeping that concern carefully in the back of his mind and would stop in a second if he felt like he saw any sign that Tony wasn't still enjoying it or was in serious pain or needed to stop. Tony also refers to himself disparagingly a few times (calls himself a disparaging name at one point, worries that Steve will do the same later on).

Steve kissed him for a long time like that, his cock softening a little bit, still there inside Tony’s limp, tired body. It gave the occasional exhausted spasm around Steve every so often, reminding Tony vividly that Steve was still inside him. Tony slid his arms back around Steve’s shoulders and hung on, aware that he was floating even more than he’d been before, eagerly pressing into the kiss, tilting his head for it, luxuriating in it as Steve rubbed at the back of his neck, traced his fingers along his hairline. Eventually Steve pulled away from his mouth, pressed kisses all down his jaw, along his neck, making Tony shiver, then gasp as his body shifted around Steve inside him. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Mmm,” Tony said. “Tired. Floaty.” He smiled at Steve. “Good.” He still felt safe. Aching, sore, but safe. And breathless, and good, and—just good. Really, really good.

“You look pretty out of your head,” Steve said with a little bit of a laugh, and he was hot and flushed and sweaty, and he almost looked tired. His cheeks were _very_ red, and his forehead was studded with sweat, and his eyes were bright, his chest heaving. Tony ran a hand up over it, oddly fascinated by the rhythm, feeling fond and protective of Steve’s breathlessness and wanting to touch, and it made Steve gasp a little and smile before he said, low and husky, “How are you feeling about more?”

“Good,” Tony said, easily, lazily. “Keep going. I still remember how to say red if I need it.”

“Sometimes I think you wouldn’t ever say it, though,” Steve said, sounding rueful, and kissed him again, softly, hand still under the back of his neck, the other skimming gently up his side, thumb sliding warm over his ribs, as he pushed Tony over, onto his back in the bed as Steve moved over him, shifted on his knees before he settled down onto him, not even pulling out of Tony’s body. He gave a few experimental thrusts, easily, up and back, bracing himself, and Tony choked, twitching under him, moaned, his head tilting back. “Real wet,” Steve said, breathlessly, smiling against Tony’s mouth as he licked and sucked at his lips and pressed wet, messy, dirty kisses over Tony’s mouth. “That’s a real easy slide.”

“Is that okay?” Tony asked, almost distracted from the spike of anxiety Steve’s comment had given him from the feeling of Steve moving, hardening, inside him, but not quite. His legs twitched without any input from his brain, and Steve murmured gently, stroking one hand down his thigh to still them. “I—I’ll say anything you want, baby, I promise.”

“Really not how it’s supposed to work, Stark,” Steve said, stilling over him for a moment.

“But I don’t want you to stop,” Tony said, feeling lost. “Really, sugar.”

“Just as long as you’re sure,” Steve said, his voice hoarse and low, “that’s all I want. I just want you to be okay with everything we do.” But it was very, very gentle, and the kiss he gave Tony next was slow, sweet, loving, and Tony tilted his head for him and melted into it and when Steve pulled away again, still sliding himself easily back and forth inside him now, moving again, he could hardly think.

“But I really am okay,” he mumbled, still feeling a little lost, and jerking with the sensations Steve was giving him with those movements inside his body. “I swear, big guy. I d-don’t know, I like it, it’s overwhelming but . . . is—is that wrong, is that bad, if you don’t like it, we can stop, I want you to like it, I want you t-to . . . .”

“Shh,” Steve said, immediately, stilling again, and his hands came up, cradled Tony’s hot face between them, sweaty and gentle against his flushed cheeks. “I like it. I like _you_ , Tony.” His eyes were dilated but still very blue and utterly sincere. “And this is wonderful. But—but I’ll like you no matter what you like in bed, okay? Just tell me, whatever you want, that’s all I need. If you wanted to stop that’s fine, too.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Tony said.

“Then okay,” Steve said, and smiled, fingers curling and stroking along the line of Tony’s beard. “Works for me. Like I said, whatever you want, Tony. No matter what you like. Just tell me, that’s all I need. Whatever you like, doesn’t matter to me.”

“What if it was—was really . . . really weird,” Tony mumbled, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He dropped his eyes.

“I think I’ve already done some weird stuff with you, Tony,” Steve said, smiling a little, and nipped lightly at Tony’s bottom lip. His thumb came up, brushed along his sweaty cheekbone, the other hand slid under Tony’s neck and played gently with his hair again. He still wasn’t moving inside Tony, and he felt very warm where he was lying against him, big muscular thighs thick and hot along the outside of Tony’s. “Like what are you thinking?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Tony said helplessly. He couldn’t think at all. “ _Really_ weird.”

“We talked about what we wouldn’t do,” Steve said, and yeah, Tony remembered that conversation; it had basically been him suggesting they should have limits, and Steve staring at him blankly, until Tony had suggested the short list of limits he’d given the (very very few, but Steve didn’t know that) tops he’d played with, you know, the usual sort of thing that no one would really find that surprising, and then he’d had to describe to Steve what the hell he was even talking about. And then Steve, eyes wide at the idea that there were words for things like scat, had agreed that those limits sounded good, and added that Tony would have to hurt him pretty bad before anything would stick, and blushed and mumbled that, hell, Tony, he _liked_ being hurt, and things had gotten derailed pretty fast.

“What if I wanted to wear high heels and stockings and have you make love to my toes,” Tony said, as challengingly as he could through the haze curling slowly through his brain, the heavy blanket of warmth that pressed him down into the bed, under Steve’s warm, welcome weight.

“Uh, yes? Tony, that’d be fine?” Steve said, in a tone that suggested he thought Tony hadn’t been paying attention. “I like that kinda stuff, you know that,” he added. “I mean, whatever, but I’ll kiss your feet any time, and I’d love to see you in stockings. I’d give you a foot massage afterwards.”

Okay, he genuinely sounded like he was getting into that idea, and Tony filed that away for later, but that wasn't what he was trying to get across. He sighed heavily. “What about if I wanted to pretend to be a . . . a rabbit,” he said.

Steve tousled his hair. “Sure, Flopsy,” he said, and tugged at the lobe of Tony’s ear. “I’m sure I could find something to do with a horny little bunny, right?”

Clearly he wasn’t making his point here. Tony swallowed hard. “What if I wanted you to hold me down and call me a, a, a dirty, filthy slut and take me until it hurt and I was crying and you, you—”

“But Tony, sweetheart,” Steve said, softly, and there was way too much goddamned understanding in his voice, aching empathy in his tone, “you _don’t_ want that. I know how much you don’t.”

Damn him, anyway, how the hell did he know, how did he always _know_? “What if I did,” Tony said stubbornly. “What if, if I did, Steve?” He hated himself for the way he’d stammered just a little.

“Well, then I’d do it,” Steve said, and his hand came up, his thumb rubbed gently along Tony’s jaw, along his beard. “But don’t tell me you do want that, Stark, not right now, not today. Don’t you dare use me to punish you, not in bed, all right? You want me to punish you, you get me to punch you in the face, but not in bed. Not here, not when we’re like this together.”

“You would?” Tony asked, and hated how thick and quavering his voice sounded, how thick and choked his throat felt. “You really would? You—”

“I would if you _wanted_ it,” Steve said, very softly, “yeah. But if you don’t, beautiful, don’t worry about that, Tony, don’t ever worry about that. You don’t tell me to do it, it doesn’t happen.” His thumb came up, brushed very softly, very gently, over Tony’s bottom lip, and he kissed him, achingly lightly, and said, “I ever call you a whore, it’ll be because you . . . you want it, and you tell me you do, and because you’re my beautiful reckless Tony who fucks like he’s had half of Hollywood and remembered every second of it, and I’ll try my damnedest to make you feel good about it. And I hope to God that makes sense. Because you’re not a, a, a slut, Tony, you’re not.”

“I, I kind of am, Steve,” Tony said, with a crooked, wry, self-conscious smile, thinking about where he was, what he was doing, how he’d pushed Steve into bed with him, his spread legs and aching ass and Steve still inside him and what . . . well, what his dad would have said about that, what some of his old friends would have said about that, oh, God, why did he have to think about—

“You’ve had a lot of sex,” Steve said, “so’ve I. I don’t know what you mean by that, but I’m not some pure as the driven snow virgin, Tony Stark, and if you don’t know that by now I don’t know what to tell you.”

“No, I got that,” Tony said, looking down at Steve’s body where he lay over him, where they were joined, and suddenly the irony of that hit him and he was laughing, ungracefully, snorting and kind of gross, and Steve lay down and put his face in his shoulder and laughed too, and it made all kinds of ripples of sensation go through Tony’s body, but he couldn’t stop laughing, and when he finally did, he felt weirdly fucked out and limp and boneless and overwhelmed.

“Yeah, well, good,” Steve said, after a moment, still kind of chuckling into his shoulder, “that’s good. You wouldn’t believe it, but I’ve had sex before—mostly with fellas, don’t know why that would be—but with guys who could have the filthiest kinkiest sex with me and then looked at me sideways when someone made an off color joke, like I wouldn’t approve. Drives me up the goddamn wall, Tony.”

“It’s your boyish good looks,” Tony told him, smiling slightly.

“Probably,” Steve said, smiling back, and rolled his eyes. “Damn them to hell.” He leaned in and kissed Tony again.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Tony murmured into his mouth after a moment, dragged one hand up Steve’s chest and tweaked his nipple, making him jerk and pant heavily into his mouth, and his cock jerk inside Tony’s ass and make him squirm. “I kind of like them, pretty boy that you are.” He dragged his nails down the back of Steve’s neck and grinned as Steve gasped and shivered.

“Yeah, well, as long as _you_ like ‘em,” Steve murmured, kind of shyly, and then moaned with pleasure as Tony moved both hands up and dragged them down over Steve’s shoulders, digging in his nails, short as they were, as hard as he could. Tony felt his cock twitch, hardening even more, inside his body, and the feeling brought that hazy blanket of warmth up to cover him even more, so abruptly that he felt like he’d fallen away under it all at once. He groaned, and arched up, and Steve must have felt the change in him, because his mouth covered Tony’s again, but more commanding this time, soft but firm, demanding Tony open up his lips, give way under him, and Tony did, willingly and gratefully, as Steve’s hand caressed the side of his head, came up and settled against the top of it, combing gently through the strands. When he pulled away from the kiss, Tony could barely breathe, and was panting for air.

Steve dragged Tony’s arms up over his head, and crossed his wrists over each other, before one hand came down and held them there. The other fell back, slid gently over Tony’s cheek, thumbed at his jaw, before it fell to his chest and smoothed gently down over his skin. “Listen,” he said, “you want me to go hard with you, you just ask, okay, but I won’t do it because you feel like you need Cap to take a firm hand with Iron Man. You get me?”

Tony nodded. His head was swimming, spinning. “I understand,” he finally croaked out, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth.

“And not because you think Steve should be mad at Tony, or Cap should be mad at Tony, while we’re at it,” Steve said. He slid a thumb under Tony’s chin, tipped his head back, and Tony let him. “Or even because I _am_ mad at you. Understand?”

“I understand,” Tony managed again. His mouth felt dry, and it was barely a breath.

“You remember that and I’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want it,” Steve said. “Well. Not in front of the team. Well. Uh. Maybe Thor, or Natasha, or Jan, if you—if you wanted to, but not in—well, you know what I mean.”

“The sight of your dick would give Clint penis envy for years,” Tony told Steve earnestly.

“Yeah, let’s not,” Steve said, turning bright red. Tony could feel how hot his skin had gotten against his own skin.

He grinned, feeling lazy and boneless and relaxed, now, suddenly, and skimmed his fingers, nails and all, up over Steve’s back. “I agree,” he said, “it’d only give him another reason to need to rile you up all the time. And that’s my job.” He reached down, patted Steve’s proprietarily on the ass, and Steve choked.

“Okay, I . . . uh. It’s not. It’s really not the same thing,” he said in a flustered, choked sort of voice, and Tony smiled again.

“Take me again, big guy,” he murmured. “I want you to. I really do.”

“You are something else,” Steve said, fondly, and dipped his head down to kiss him again.

“So are you,” Tony murmured, and let it be just as fond. He had an idea he was probably gazing up at Steve all starry and worshipful and didn’t care. Steve knew how Tony felt about him, didn’t he? It wasn’t like it was any kind of big secret, not anymore.

“Sweetheart,” Steve murmured, and their lips lingered together for long moments before Steve pulled away and touched the side of Tony’s face. “Whatever you want,” he said, then, and reached down, pushed one of Tony’s legs out wider, then got that hand under his thigh and pushed it up and started to fuck him.

Tony sighed happily and let himself relax into it. It hurt, for sure it hurt; it ached all the way through his body, and he was really sore now, honestly, legitimately, and every time Steve pounded into him it was like his heart was pounding in the throbbing of his ass and Steve’s thrust all at once, and Steve kept leaning over him and reminding him to breathe, breath hot on his ear and neck, and he couldn’t move at all, really, just lie there while Steve held his wrists pinned to the bed above his head with one hand and held his leg up and open with the other, but it was still strangely easy to relax into that floating, easy warmth and just let himself be fucked, to enjoy the sensations as they ebbed and flowed and pounded through his body and he was jerked up and down over the bed, even when particularly hard thrusts made him choke and gasp and cry out at the sudden flare of pain from sore hips and his aching, overworked hole. It was exactly what he’d wanted. This was exactly what he’d wanted when he started this, and it hurt and he felt impossibly sore and it was perfect. Steve wasn’t harsh or fast, but he wasn’t gentle, either, and it was a constant, even, unyielding pace rocking Tony back and forth, _taking_ him, just like Tony had said he should. Tony was floating and far away and loved every second of it, feeling Steve inside him, the low ache of pain, the constant rocking motion, the way it felt, his own helplessness. He felt open and wet and full and spread and helpless, and the warm feeling of Steve’s heavy length inside, blunt and insistent, felt welcome instead of strange, and it was just like what he’d thought he wanted when they’d started this.

When Steve finally stilled and came with a pulse of his cock and a wet spurt of heat that Tony felt inside and Tony’s name mumbled against his lips, his hand relaxing over Tony’s wrists to free his hands, Tony tugged his arms down and wrapped them around Steve’s shoulders and kissed him back gratefully.

Eventually, Steve pulled away, and laid his head on Tony’s shoulder, still not pulling out, and Tony sighed, let his head loll to one side and rest against Steve’s sweat-darkened hair, the color of dark honey when it was all sweaty like this, and closed his eyes. Steve smelled good, like sex and musk and sweat and himself, and his hand was warm on Tony’s belly, over his hips, stroking gently, after a minute. It felt good, and Tony just closed his eyes for a long moment and reveled in it. It just felt . . . really, really good. His mind wandered, and he just drifted for a long moment, enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of lazy relaxation. Eventually his brain started flitting around, lighting on various tumbling pieces of sensation, of thought, but he didn’t mind because he still felt so relaxed, so lethargic, so tired. It was relaxing thinking, not tension-producing thinking.

“How much come do you think the human body can hold before it has to go somewhere else,” Tony whispered into Steve’s hair as the thought occurred to him, and he jerked, as if startled, and Tony groaned, because it reminded his sore passage that there was still a gigantic dick inside it, but he didn’t mind, especially when Steve snorted a laugh.

“You would wonder about that,” he said, and squeezed his fingers very lightly against Tony’s bruised hip, barely hard enough to make it twinge. The feeling still made Tony suck in his breath. “Should we try to find out? Should I get out the measuring tape and a ruler?”

“I don’t want a ruler up my ass,” Tony said. “’Sides, Rogers, I was asking about volume, not length.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Steve snickered. Tony tugged on his hair.

“Don’t be a dick, Steven,” he said, and snorted again, because it was a pun. Because Steve’s dick was inside him and . . . yeah. “But I guess figuring out the circumference of your dick would be a start,” he added. “Since we know that fits inside me. Somehow.”

“Honestly,” Steve said.

“I can’t help it,” Tony said, in his most innocent, pleading tone. “I think about stuff like this, it just happens, and you put so much come into me, it’s natural to wonder about it, I mean, I think it is.”

Steve’s hand slid down, pressed right over Tony’s pelvis, between his hips, and he hummed thoughtfully. Tony hissed in his breath, because the touch somehow reminded him how very, very full and sore he felt down there, made him feel tight and heavy and full of Steve’s weight and girth and heat. “Well, you’re right,” Steve said, “I think about it, too. You have such narrow hips that sometimes when I’m making love to you I feel like I’ll break you. I know I won’t,” he added, quickly. “But sometimes I feel the way my hands are digging into your hip bones and I realize your bone is right there under the skin, and I think about it, Tony, I really do.”

“I never thought I’d liked being fucked by someone bigger than me,” Tony mumbled, trying not to let on how hot and flushed Steve’s words had left him. The bite Steve had left on his back itched with throbbing pain against the bed with how hot and sweaty Tony felt, and he tried not to squirm. “But then . . . well, apparently I do like it.”

“Really,” Steve said, but he sounded amused, “because, Tony, I’ve gotta say, you go after it a lot for someone who doesn’t think he’d _like_ it.”

“Yeah, okay, Rogers,” Tony said, “don’t rub it in that you’ve got a big dick; it isn’t gallant. But I never thought I’d _like_ it. Like that, specifically, about it. Just because _you_ have a thing for getting held down, big guy.”

Steve blushed. “Shut up, Iron Man,” he said, and Tony knew he was thinking about the times Tony had used the armor to satisfy exactly that particular _thing_ of Steve’s, and grinned.

“Yeah, well, I _do_ think it with you,” Tony said, and it felt like a confession, oddly, made him feel hot in the face and weird and fluttering in his stomach. “That’s all I was trying to say.”

“You like feeling small with me, huh?” Steve murmured, and he shifted his weight, and was suddenly very much on top of Tony, arms bracketing his head and hips together, and Tony did feel small, his stomach feeling tight and compressed and making him feel very aware of Steve’s dick still deep inside him, shifting slightly with his movements and how that felt, the comparative size of their arms and thighs, and blushed. “What if I were still smaller’n you?” Steve asked, and his fingers carded through Tony’s hair gently. His eyes were bright and warm when Tony looked up at him, and something in his flushed, sweat-damp, glowing face, his smile, caught Tony’s breath in his throat as he gazed up at him. Steve’s lips looked bitten and puffy, swollen with kisses and wet, shiny.

“Then you’d have to find some other way to take me apart and make me feel small,” Tony murmured, under absolutely no illusions that Steve wouldn’t be able to. Steve would have been able to make him feel like this no matter what size he was physically, Tony knew it in his bones. His voice dropped down, came out breathy and soft as he added, “I bet you’d go even harder, wreck me all the time.”

“I would, too,” Steve said, and rocked his dick back and forth, and oh God, he was getting hard again, Tony felt it and let his head fall back and moaned, surrendering, tilted his head back and pushed his neck up to bare his throat. “I would take you apart, because you need it sometimes, don’t you, Tony? You need it from me.” Steve leaned in, nuzzled against Tony’s throat, pressed his lips against the pulse point there, and Tony felt like it was throbbing through his entire body, his pulse beating in time with Steve’s lips, his breath against that spot.

Tony just moaned. The feeling of Steve moving back and forth inside him again, the ache between his legs, was overwhelming. He knew he was starting to drool, his mouth wet and sloppy, couldn’t help it, and let his head fall into Steve’s touch as Steve brought his hand up, stroked the side of his face.

“I like doing this for you,” Steve murmured, and kissed the rise of his cheekbone. “I’m going to take you again, all right, Tony? Is that okay?”

Tony nodded his head and kissed the pulse at Steve’s wrist, let him slide his thumb into his mouth and sucked on it pliantly as Steve moved it around, feeling his cheeks from the inside, pressing on his tongue.

“Do you want it?” Steve said, and pulled his thumb out of Tony’s mouth, made him whine. “Say yes or no, all right?”

“Yes,” Tony whined, a little breathless whimper.

“Does it hurt, sweetheart?” Steve said, and he was smiling a little. He knew it did. He probably knew exactly how sore Tony was, better than he did; he was like that. Whenever they did stuff like this, he kept track of Tony’s body better than Tony did.

“Yes,” Tony whispered. Said it a little louder, because Steve was still looking at him. “Yes, Steve, it . . . it hurts.”

“And do you want it, anyway?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” Tony mumbled helplessly. “So much. Please take me, Steve. Please, it hurts. Please.”

“Oh, I will, Tony,” Steve told him. “I will, sweetheart. You just lie back and spread your legs and take it, all right? Take it for me real nice. Like you have been.”

Tony spread his legs and looked up at Steve for confirmation that that was a good spot, even though it made his hips and sore muscles twinge painfully.

“That’s it,” Steve murmured. “So good. So sweet.” His hand slid down the inside of Tony’s thigh, and Tony trembled and made a soft noise he hadn’t intended to make that made him flush, go red and close his eyes. “You’re so good, Tony,” Steve said. His hand closed around Tony’s cock, and it made Tony gasp and arch his back, squirming under the pressure and warmth when he hadn’t thought about his own cock for what felt like a long time. Steve squeezed him lightly, then let him go, and Tony panted, feeling very, very warm suddenly. “You’ve got such a pretty cock,” Steve said, and touched it gently where it rested against Tony’s pelvis, stroking him lightly, thumb rubbing against his balls before running the back of his fingers along it, brushing his fingers up over the head so they came away sticky with precome that glistened on Steve’s fingers until Tony was squirming, and every time he moved it left him more aware of Steve’s cock inside him, how he was moving around it, “such a pretty cock and such a pretty hole and such pretty thighs, and you’re all full up of my cock and my come right now, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Tony mumbled. His voice sounded breathy, breaking and scratchy. He felt it; he felt full and strange and achy, a strange awareness buzzing down to his toes of how big Steve felt inside him and how long he’d been in there and how full and wet Tony felt. His hole might have been all loose now and hardly squeezing down on Steve, but somehow that didn’t make him feel any smaller at all; it just left Tony more aware of how very big the heavy, rigid heat of the length inside him was. “I feel r-really full, Steve.”

“Is it strange?” Steve asked, still stroking his thigh gently. Tony moaned.

“Yeah,” he admitted, and it came out in a breathy whisper. “It’s strange. But I like having you i-in there.”

“You’re so sweet, Tony,” Steve said, and the fondness in his tone made Tony’s eyes prickle. “I like being in there. Even when you’re so tight it’s like being squeezed until my eyes water, and believe me, that feels amazing, I love how tight you can be, but right now you’re all loose and soft and slack and easy and wet and it’s nice, Tony, it’s real nice to feel you like this. Like you couldn’t tighten up even if you tried.”

“I . . . I don’t think I could, Steve,” Tony said, and knew he was going very deeply red because of how very hot his face felt. “I—I’m so tired, and you’re so big, and—and I’m, I’m so—so sore.”

“That’s all right,” Steve told him, with a gentle, firm understanding that made Tony’s breath go ragged. “I don’t want you to tighten up. I don’t want you to do a thing. I want you to lie here and take it like a good boy, and you are a good boy, Tony.”

“I try to be,” Tony mumbled weakly. “I really try, for you.”

“Don’t care about anything else,” Steve said, stroking his fingers down over Tony’s knee, over the sensitive skin on the underside of it with firm, gentle strokes, “you are a good boy for me, Tony. Never forget that.”

“I’ll try not to,” Tony whispered. He wasn’t sure if he could follow that direction and really remember, wasn’t sure he always wanted to be a good boy for Steve, even, and he had a feeling that when he was thinking straight again this would make his neck burn and his face feel hot to remember it, but when he was down this far, this far under, all he wanted was to be good for Steve, to be the _good boy_ he called him so willingly.

Steve’s hand came up between his legs, between where he was splitting Tony’s wet hole open wide and the swell of his balls, and his thumb pressed in, firm, at his perineum, and Tony jerked, gasping, knew his legs dug in so his feet slid against the bedding and his arms flailed weakly against the bed as sensation arched through him and the sense of heaviness, of fullness, was suddenly a hundred times more present, as pleasure arced through him underneath it. “Besides,” Steve said, “I know how to play you; I know your body, darlin’. When I press right here,” he did it again, and Tony choked on his breath, moaned, _forgot_ how to breathe entirely, and Steve’s dick jerked, and when he spoke again his voice was hoarse, panting, thick and husky, and that made Tony’s tired dick throb all on its own, “your body ripples in the sweetest way, like your poor tired muscles want to clench down real bad but can’t. It feels amazing, like the best massage you could ever get and a blowjob all rolled into one.”

“Th-that good?” Tony stammered, weakly. It seemed so unlikely, when he was so exhausted and fucked out he couldn't possibly have worked himself over Steve, or tried to tighten himself up to make it good. “I—really?”

“Yeah, that good,” Steve said, his voice still that hot, husky rasp, stroking gently with his thumb now, not pressing, and making Tony shudder, making him shake and ripple inside, he could feel it, work and press down on Steve and—oh God. That spot, his perineum, felt very sensitive now. “You’re always good to me, sweetheart. You’re the best.” Steve leaned up, before Tony could think to respond, to do more than part his lips on a ragged intake of breath in response to that, and slid one arm under Tony’s head, sliding his palm along his shoulder, before he leaned down and kissed him. His other hand stayed there beneath Tony’s balls, stroking gently, as Steve rolled his hips into him, cock jerking inside his body, and Tony couldn’t think at all, trembling under the pressure and trembling under the all-consuming sweetness of Steve’s kiss and lost in them both. When Steve finally pulled away, Tony felt like he couldn’t think at all, couldn’t move, even as Steve’s big hand slid up, palming gently, light as a feather, over Tony’s still limp, sticky-wet cock, then over the trail of hair at his belly. “Thank you, Tony,” Steve whispered raggedly into his ear, against his neck. “Tell me if you need me to stop, all right? Can you try and remember that for me?”

“Y-yes,” Tony mumbled, his mouth wet and slack and heavy and barely recognizing what he was agreeing to, just aware enough to register what Steve wanted somewhere in the back of his mind. “I-I’ll try. I-if you want.”

“I do, sweetheart,” Steve told him. “Are you green right now? Am I good to go ahead?”

Tony nodded, then nodded again for good measure, just to bring the point home. “Yes, green,” he said. “Green, Steve, I’m green. Very green, go ahead, go ahead.”

“All right, Tony,” Steve breathed, and kissed him again, just very lightly, for a long, slow, sweet moment before he pulled away. He slid his hands down over his arms, squeezed Tony’s slack, stupid hands, then let go and braced both hands against Tony’s limp, sweaty thighs and tilted him up before he slid himself back out just a bit, creating a wet, slick noise and a feeling of wetness trickling out of him around his length, between Tony’s thighs, and then slid back in. Tony heard, felt, himself gasp as if from a long way away, twitched and groaned under him, his muscles refusing to cooperate enough to let him arch his back, even though he felt like he wanted it to. His head bounced against the bed, lolling weakly, and he groaned, almost bit his tongue. Steve mumbled something to him and reached up, curled one hand against the back of Tony’s neck, pressed a wet, sloppy kiss against his throat, before he started to thrust into him with a slow, wet, easy back and forth slide.

He went slow, this time, there wasn’t any way to call what he was doing rushing or pounding or anything like that, but even though Tony’s body was exhausted and half-numb and limp and tired, every slow, easy stroke felt overwhelming, like it rocked through his whole body like a wave of sensation, not pleasure, just _feeling_ , not quite pain, but close, everything aching and intense and overwhelming and too much, like he was overfull, spilling over with sensation, his every nerve a quivering overwhelmed raw ache like a stripped wire. Steve murmured to him, soft and gentle, called him good, good, and sweet, and told him how good he felt, and Tony let those words wash over him, fill him up with warm aching happiness and tenderness and start a low glow of pleasure inside him, let them feel good, cradled them in his chest like a precious thing in his hands as he let Steve have him. He was only vaguely aware, and of the strangest things, not just the slick, easy drag of Steve inside him and the ache of himself inside, but the way his bare feet dangled in midair as Steve brought his legs up, draped his knees over his shoulders, the warm sweaty skin under the underside of his knees, the way the coverlet felt catching and sticking against his sweaty, messy ass and the prickle of sweat and damp at the small of his back, Steve’s occasional huff of warm breath against the sweaty insides of his thighs.

Eventually, Tony thought, Steve came; he heard the huffing gasp of breath, of Tony’s name on a groan, felt the wet rush of heat inside him, the pulsing of Steve’s cock. Steve let his legs fall back down, around his waist, leaned forward and rested his head on Tony’s shoulder as he panted for breath, and Tony raised stupid, tired fingers to stroke slowly through his hair.

Tony didn’t know how long it was; time had gone strange, counted only in the throbbing of Steve’s cock in his tender passage and the way his own heart seemed to pulse there in the raw skin where he was sorest in response, the deep thudding of it in his own chest. He wasn’t sure if Steve was done or not yet, and couldn’t really find it in himself to care. Steve’s damp hair was slick under his fingers, and caught against the calluses of machine-work on their tips and the scars on his palm.

Steve sighed, after some time had passed, nuzzled against Tony’s chest and pressed soft, gentle kisses there, rubbing his cheek there gently and warming Tony’s sweaty skin with his damp breath, then linked his hand together with Tony’s again, squeezed it, brought it up to his lips to press another kiss against the fingers, against the palm. Tony sighed, let his body go relaxed and limp under Steve.

Steve dropped his fingers, nuzzled in against Tony’s neck, licked at the bruising bite he’d left on his shoulder and made Tony gasp and shudder at the sensation, gripping tight at the back of Steve’s neck as squirmed around him, under him, at the feeling. Steve’s tongue was very gentle, but that was what made it so shivery-hot and strange, the gentle prickle and drag of his saliva, his soft tongue, over the bruising bite, just starting to swell. Steve brushed it with his teeth, and that made Tony shiver all over, before Steve slid his mouth over, all wet lips and tongue along Tony’s collarbone, then lower, over his sweaty, damp skin. Tony dragged in a deep breath, gasping at every shivery slide of Steve’s lips over his skin, every tingling bolt of sensation that came from that hot wet touch.

“I told you,” Steve murmured. “Your nipples get so perky and needy when I’m inside you. I told you earlier I’d put my mouth on them.” His voice was still all sex-rough and husky, and God, it made Tony want to squirm and pant with the way it made heat twist up inside his belly and prickle all over his skin. “I mean to keep my promises, Tony,” Steve said, and ducked his head to close his mouth over one of Tony’s nipples.

The feeling that arched through Tony almost immediately was startling. Tony wasn’t used to his nipples being particularly sensitive, but what with how they’d been rubbed back and forth against the bed with every thrust earlier, and the attention Steve had paid them before that, and everything, they were aching and sensitized and it made Tony cry out, arch his back and gasp as his fingers dug into Steve’s hair, against the back of his neck. It hurt, because they were sore, sore and puffy and aching, but everything hurt and felt sore, and it was the kind of hurting that felt good, that made Tony twist and gasp under Steve and push his chest up because he wanted more.

“Right?” Steve murmured against his skin, licking around the areola, and Tony shuddered, squeezed his eyes shut. “I know,” Steve said, then, soothingly, “Shh. That’s it. Just feel it.” His mouth closed around the peak of that nipple again, tongue lapping over it and then swirling before Steve began to suck at it again, and Tony sucked in a breath, almost as surprised as he had been the last time at how vivid and intense it felt.

Steve sucked at it a little more, then switched to the other, and that made Tony gasp, groan all over again and shudder helplessly, because the nipple Steve had left was prickling and throbbing in the air and now Steve’s mouth was playing at the other sore, sensitive nub and teasing it into the same throbbing awareness. Steve sucked at it, lapped at it until Tony was squirming, then gave both of them a playful squeeze and made Tony groan and try to force his eyes open to look up at Steve.

“Beautiful,” Steve breathed, “such pretty nipples, Tony. They really are.” He brushed his hand over one of them, rubbed his thumb against the areola, the side of it, and Tony sucked in his breath. He could feel his mouth hanging open, wet with saliva, all over his lips.

“That’s it,” Steve mumbled, “just feel it,” and then he started to roll his hips, nice and easy and slow, into Tony, and it hurt, and felt strange and wet and slick, but it felt good and heavy and present and warm at the same time, and it sent a strange, deep kind of pleasure sweeping through Tony on a wave, and he caught his breath and when he blew it back out it came out on a moan.

Steve lowered his mouth to his nipple again, and then he was fucking him again, very, very slowly, until Tony was trembling all over and every breath felt like he was sobbing and his fingertips, even, felt like they ached a little, all shaky quivering jello, as Steve sucked on his nipple until it was puffy and throbbing, then switched to the other one, digging his teeth in lightly, and only when both nipples were throbbing and pounding like Tony could feel his thumping heart right behind them, right up into each sensitized little peak, and felt oddly bright and alive and aching with sensation, Steve moved up and kissed his neck, his shoulders, all over, every inch of them until Tony was shivering just from the tenderness of that, the affection, along with every single slow thrust Steve gave into him, hanging onto Steve with both hands helplessly twisted in his hair.

Steve kept at it, didn’t let things speed up at all, kept it slow and even, as he fucked Tony and kissed over his shoulders and chest, and then he moved back down to Tony’s nipples, and Tony made a helpless noise, aching and caught in his throat, but Steve just murmured something soothing and soft against the center of his chest and went back to sucking at and teasing Tony’s nipple with both his soft lips and his hot, more demanding tongue.

Tony whimpered and was immediately embarrassed by it, feeling his face heat. Steve ran his hands up along Tony’s sides, and his palms felt warm and strong, steadying against Tony’s sticky wet skin, against the way he was trembling under the sensations, rubbing his thumbs gently just under Tony’s ribs, even as he flicked his tongue against Tony’s nipple, making it feel strangely hot and brightly, tremblingly aware of every single flick of Steve’s tongue. It was so—not what he was used to, and Tony could feel himself shivering around Steve’s length, his body trying helplessly to clench down on him again, as much as it could, heard Steve’s answering groan in the back of his throat as he thrust in and out of Tony again, slid deep into him.

Having his nipples played with until they were bright spots of throbbing sensation on his chest was intense enough, but having it happen at the same time he was being fucked, that was something else entirely, and Tony kept shivering, shaking and gasping, making soft, choked little sounds that were entirely embarrassing but that he kept not registering he was making until it was a little bit too late to keep them back, and Steve never slowed or faltered in the slow, deep rhythm he had set with his thrusts, even as he fastened his mouth over Tony’s nipple on the other side and gave it a long, deep, powerful suck that made Tony give a choked moan of surprise at how it sent pleasure flashing all through him and brought it curling hot and deep and needing in his belly. When Steve released him with his mouth and gave that nipple a wet, messy kiss, his lips soft over the puffy nub, Tony almost whined at the cessation of that sensation.

Of course, then Steve just smiled, Tony could feel it against his skin, and switched over to do it to the other nipple while Tony’s chest heaved, until he was twisting and writhing under the sensation, broken noises spilling from his lips that he couldn’t seem to keep back at all. “Good boy,” Steve murmured against that nipple, voice a soft, low murmur, “let me hear you, don’t keep it back, Tony.”

Tony knew he must have flushed deeply, but it wasn’t like he could have kept the noises back anyway. Steve’s thrusts sped a bit, rocking Tony at the same time Steve’s hands dug into his hips, and the fast pace made every thrust rock hard against his sore, throbbing prostate and gave Tony a strange feeling of itching, needing, aching pleasure from the inside out, that was somehow all tied up with the thudding beat of his heart and the aching warmth that was everything that Steve was doing to his nipples. He _hurt_ , oh, hell, did he, but he’d never hurt so good in his life.

His nipples were hot, throbbing, heavy and sore and tingling with sensation, pleasure, by the time Steve thrust deep inside Tony and he could feel the pulsing heat of another one of Steve’s orgasms. His teeth dug into the sensitive skin around Tony’s right nipple as he did, and Tony gave a startled yelp at the sudden tingling, aching pain, and realized only when Steve slid down on top of him again, panting with his orgasm, that that had made Tony’s cock jerk and throb with sensation, with pleasure that had come on him entirely as a surprise.

Steve nuzzled against the puffy areola he’d dug his teeth into, kissed it like an apology, then lay with his head against Tony’s chest, panting, his dick half in and half out of Tony so that Tony felt very aware of the prickling rim of his hole and the way come trickled out of it, leaking out around Steve’s cock as he lay there lazily rolling his hips and fucking in and out with the tip and making all kinds of a wet, sticky mess between Tony’s thighs as come bubbled and foamed out with every slide, and every movement. Steve’s breath was warm against his suddenly incredibly sensitive nipple, and Tony felt very aware of how swollen and puffy it felt now. He groaned, and it turned into a helpless, whimpery moan when Steve brought one hand up and caught that sore, puffy nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it idly. Tony’s mouth felt very wet, and he couldn’t keep the sound back as Steve tugged on it and a sore, aching, intense kind of pleasure shot through him all the way to his core.

“Sore, I bet,” Steve said in a breathy, soft sort of voice, very low, and that made something twist hot in Tony’s belly.

“Um,” he managed. He couldn’t seem to think to talk, and his mouth felt stupid and slow. “Um, y-yeah. It’s . . . it’s really . . . .” He skimmed his hand up his own belly to reach for his nipples, still throbbing and hot in the cooler air, felt his fingers flutter with indecision over his stomach, then just let it flop and dangle over Steve’s smooth, sweat-damp back.

“I told you,” Steve said, his sex-deepened voice sounding rather satisfied. “I wanted to prove my point.”

Tony sucked saliva back behind his bottom lip, caught his lip between his teeth and sucked on that, too. “Wh-which point was,” he finally managed to breathe out, “was . . .”

“Mmm,” Steve said, still tugging on that nipple and making it pulse and throb with that hot, vibrating ache his mouth seemed to have coaxed to life in them. “That your nipples can be plenty sensitive once you’re already warmed up. You’ve just gotta be ready for it.” He finally let go of Tony’s nipple, ran the tip of one finger over it gently and made Tony groan all over again at the unfamiliar sensation of that gentle stroke against the throbbing, sensitized peak. “There’s a lot of you like that, though,” he murmured, and turned his head to press his lips between Tony’s pecs in a gentle kiss. “Way more sensitive if I take my time, coax it out of you. You’ve just a got a finicky system, mister. Fine-tuned.” His breath was feathering over Tony’s wet, sweaty skin, raising goosebumps. "Easy to go too hard too fast, and then you don't get the best results."

“A-am I,” Tony mumbled, his mind so fuzzy he wasn’t sure if he should be taking offense at that, maybe, or not. Because maybe—maybe Steve was saying he was difficult, and high maintenance, and it also wasn’t—it wasn’t true that he couldn’t enjoy a quick, rough, fuck, there’d been times Steve had taken him rough and hard and gasping after a mission, after a hard fight, and it had been amazing, glorious, wonderful, to feel himself aching afterwards, but it was—it was harder for him to come like that, it had been hard for him to come from a quickie for a long time.

“Mmm,” Steve said. “You are. I don’t mind.” His thumb was gently stroking Tony’s nipple now, back and forth, sending shivery waves of sensation through it, and making it hard for Tony to think. “I like putting work into you, Iron Man. You always reward it so nice. I get more back, every time.”

Tony felt himself flush. Hey, that was—that was nice. That was a nice thought. Did Steve really think of it like that? That was really nice. He’d like that, if Steve thought of him that way, he thought. “Thanks,” he breathed, and hoped his blush wasn’t as obvious as it felt. He’d never blushed easily, or at least showed blushes easily, but he felt very, very hot.

“Nah,” Steve murmured, pressing more soft kisses against his chest, up along the muscle. “Thank _you_. So generous, Tony, I—seriously, thank you for this. You feel so good.”

Tony smiled as that hit every secret little place in his chest, in his heart and deep in his stomach, in his throat, and made him feel warm, warm and right and _good_. He knew it was huge on his face, smiling up at Steve as he looked up to look at him. “Yeah, well,” he said, and it came out all a breathy, husky whisper, “it’s all for you. So, so good. 's what I want. Wanted. Want.”

“You’re the best,” Steve said, a little thickly, and kissed Tony, deep and penetrating and warm, and Tony sank into it, the feeling of it, arched up into it and found himself sliding a hand up, petting it through Steve’s hair. He thought he draped his other arm around Steve’s shoulders, but he wasn’t sure. He was so focused on the kiss, the deep, involving intensity of how Steve kissed him, vivid and hot and so earnest it left Tony trembling and hot down to his toes. When Steve pulled away, his head was spinning and warm and thick, and Steve kissed the side of his mouth, the point of his jaw, the pulse in his throat when Tony moaned and let his head tip back for him, against his Adam’s apple. “You really are beautiful,” Steve murmured, and Tony felt himself flush, turn his head away so it was easier not to meet Steve’s eyes as he smiled at that, felt it warming him up from the inside out, too. He almost never felt beautiful, not like how Steve meant it. Handsome, yes, sure, he felt that way all the time, made sure of it, but Steve meant it—it meant something different, when Steve said it like that. It meant he loved him.

And so even though Tony was a filthy, debauched, disgusting mess, none of that mattered, not at all, and he felt amazing, like he was glowing.

Steve hmmed a little, and kissed the lobe of Tony’s ear, pressed kisses down his throat, his hands falling to thumb slowly through the sweaty, slick hollows of Tony’s hips. He stayed there for a while, what felt like a long time, to Tony’s slow, sex-dazed mind that felt like it was buffering too slow, sticking and then skipping and jumping over things, pressing slow, soft kisses over Tony’s shoulders, his neck, his chest, until Tony felt himself relax, go soft and loose under Steve, his mind thick and flowing and slow like opening a bottle of maple syrup and pouring it down over your arm, all sticky-thick and easy and good.

He could feel it when Steve started getting revved up again, sliding back and forth between his legs and his cock thickening up, hard and demanding as it thickened up again all steely-soft and rigid in its place in Tony’s body. Steve had been lying there, between his legs, so long, that it felt natural to have him there, inside, to have that pressure, that throbbing weight and the aching press of that length inside, to push against his inner walls and slide against his prickling hole. Steve kept it up for a while, until he was fully hard again, then made another considering noise, gently running his hands up and down Tony’s shuddering sides as he looked down at them, considering; Tony could see it through his heavy-lidded eyes, half-closed with his own warm, sleepy lassitude. Steve’s heavy hot cock sliding into him hadn’t interrupted that sticky, warm, slow deep relaxation at all, had actually just made Tony feel like he was sinking even deeper into it, oddly soothing and right even as it made his muscles ache and twinge.

Somehow Tony wasn’t surprised at all when Steve slid out of him, leaving him feeling cold and adrift and empty without the heavy weight of Steve inside him, only to roll him over onto his stomach, bringing one leg over when Tony was too stupid and exhausted to do it himself and adjusting Tony’s limp cock carefully under him so it lay flat against the blankets, and sink back into him with a sigh of pleasure that Tony felt all the way through his own body, even felt a hot, shuddery tingle of answering pleasure in the tip of his soft cock, sensitive and wet and almost stinging with soft, throbbing overstimulation, and felt warm and heavy with it, like it was his pleasure almost as much.

Tony moaned, part pleasure at being filled again, feeling the warm heaviness slide into him through the pain like part of him returned, a warm, needy, receptive twist in his belly as he welcomed Steve back inside, part pain and overworked desperation. His body bucked under Steve, which surprised him, because he wouldn’t have thought he had the strength for it at all anymore, but Steve held him down easily with warm, sweaty hands on his shoulders.

“Shh, Tony,” Steve murmured, “is this good, is this all right?”

“Green,” Tony slurred into the blankets, unthinkingly, just wanting Steve not to stop if he didn’t want to. The way Steve had pressed him down rubbed his nipples against the bed, and they felt very hot, sensitized and throbbing and needy at the pressure, and it felt good, and more than that, he could feel Steve’s heavy weight over the back of him, deep inside, felt the throbbing itch of Steve’s need, thick and heavy and twitching inside him, and he wanted Steve to thrust inside him to completion again, to feel that wonderful, overwhelming moment when Steve gasped and pulsed inside him until he filled Tony up again and then collapsed over him, spent and warm and sated and breathless and feeling good. That was what he wanted; Steve to feel good. “I’m, I’m. Good. Keep, keep going. Please.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve breathed, breath hot and wet against the back of his neck, under his ear, “thank you, God, is there anyone better than you?” And while Tony was still hot and flushed from that, Steve slid back, nearly back all the way out of him, and started the slow, rhythmic thrusts of his fucking all over again.

Tony was fuzzy and floating and his body was warm and overwhelmed, knees slightly spread and face down and open to be fucked, and he didn’t move at all, just sucked on his teeth as much as he could to try to keep some spit in his mouth rather than smeared over the bed and his lips and chin and let Steve thrust back and rock forward into him again, over and over. He forgot everything else, forgot anything about telling Steve to stop, even that he could tell him to stop, but that was all right, because he didn’t want Steve to stop; he wanted Steve to do this for as long as he wanted to, as long as he _could_ , and Tony’s own soreness didn’t matter at all next to how badly he wanted Steve to do that. He wouldn’t have wanted to be able to stop him anyway. So Tony just lay there and took it and felt and lost track of time completely, feeling a strange fuzzing tingling all through the nerves of his body as Steve took him again, and ended up sprawled out over his back after he came, filling Tony with wet heat again, cock still heavy in his hole, a heavy weight over his back that made Tony gasp and ache, struggling, to breathe, because he was so breathless already.

Tony didn’t mind. Steve lay there for a long time, before he cupped Tony’s splayed, trembling fingers in his hand, gathering them into a fist and kissing the back of his knuckles, braced himself on his forearms and started to fuck him again.

Tony forgot everything, forgot everything outside their bed and most of the things inside it, just remembered breathing and aching and Steve’s breath and his smell and his heartbeat and the smell of sex and the aching weariness of Tony’s breaths in his chest and the way Steve felt inside him, fucking him, the endless slide of the hard, heavy cock deep inside him and the size of it and the wet full feeling of his hole and the way every thrust sloshed and squelched and the wet slickness of his own thighs. His muscles hurt with an overworked burn, his stomach hurt from clenching almost as much as he hurt from the inside out, he could feel little cramping shudders starting in his exhausted internal muscles, in his thighs and his abdominals, and his muscles felt like liquid, quivering like jello even down to his fingers, but he didn’t mind, welcomed it, even, as long as Steve kept going. Steve made him feel very warm, his weight and width and length and heaviness inside, the warmth of him over Tony’s back, his hot breath on his neck and his shoulders as he kissed him over his shoulders, his back, along his spine, over the bruise he’d left, all soft and gentle and making it sting and prickle until Tony was gasping, tongue wet and warm and caressing between thrusts, kisses intimate and somehow commanding at the same time, like he owned Tony’s body, every inch of the trembling flesh, and had no fear of being rejected or pushed away no matter how he touched him, or where, for any caress. His hands skimmed along Tony’s hips and thighs, mapping out the shape of him, stroked his sides, came up under his heaving chest and stroked his stomach and pinched his sensitized nipples and made Tony jerk and buck under him, then slid out from under him again and went back to bracing Steve as he bit and licked and kissed at Tony’s shoulders with his hot, commanding mouth. Tony was his, and in that moment he knew it and reveled in it and let his body jerk as Steve made him, with every demanding touch or gentle caress.

Eventually Steve’s kisses grew softer, as his thrusts sped up and became more demanding themselves, sweet soft brushes of his mouth and tongue over the bites and bruises and marks he’d left, until he linked his hand under Tony’s knee and tugged it out wide, spreading him apart until Tony gasped with the stretch and burn of it, at how much deeper it let Steve sink into him, and then he thrust and thrust and thrust, jerking Tony up and down against the blankets in a way that made his nipples buzz with almost painful sensation, and then Steve buried himself deep inside Tony and came again. He lay there for a while longer, and Tony felt himself drifting off, felt his arms go lax and loose, sleepy, against the bed. He barely noticed when Steve started to fuck him all over again.

He was much slower this time, gentle and easy and almost caressing in his deep thrusts that warmed Tony from the inside out, but that didn’t stop every one from hurting, the way Tony’s raw, tender body throbbed with every movement and almost worse in between. But it was sweet and gentle and slow, and the way Steve kissed his back and shoulders and murmured to him in a thick, sex-rough, husky voice made Tony’s breath hitch and stop in his throat, so gentle and cherishing and warm. Steve slid his arms under Tony’s chest and held him, all warm and present all the way down over him, linked their fingers, turned one hand over so his own palm faced up and squeezed Tony’s hand as he fucked him, holding tightly to his fingers, and that was all Tony thought about for a long time, how warm he felt, and how—how good, with Steve’s arms under him, and Steve over him, and around him, holding him, penetrating him, deep inside him. It felt amazing to be held like this while he got fucked; how had he never really noticed or thought about before. It felt amazing, and safe, and warm, and so—so good, loved, and—and wonderful.

He thought Steve might have come in him twice more.   He wasn’t really paying attention anymore, his head drooping down, pillowed against Steve’s forearm as Steve pressed kisses along the nape of his neck, against his ear. He only noticed when things changed, when Steve brought his hand up to his own lips and laid a gentle, soft, worshipful kiss on the back of Tony’s knuckles, and he could feel how he was panting, hot and damp and heavy, against Tony’s skin, and when he spoke again Steve sounded winded, exhausted. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, and his voice was heavy with tiredness. “God, I feel like I could have you forever, you feel so good.” His hands were gentle as they skimmed up Tony’s wrists, over his arms, stroking gently. “So sweet, so good, so—so easy to fuck like this.”

Tony moaned at hearing that word in Steve’s voice, and Steve’s smile was soft, gentle where he could feel it against his neck as he kissed up along it, laid kisses against the place just under Tony’s ear, where he could feel his own pulse throbbing under the thin skin, against the pulse in his throat, then more kisses, lower down. His lower lip brushed the throbbing bitten bruise he’d left earlier against Tony’s spine, and Tony gasped, squirmed under him.

“You’re so good,” Steve told him, his voice rasping, “you feel so good.”

“Steve,” Tony tried to say, but his lips felt dry and only the barest whisper of sound left him. He wanted to ask if Steve was going to keep going, how much longer, how much more, he had in him, but he knew he’d never be able to ask that much, string that many words together; he was too exhausted and he couldn’t seem to make a sound.

“No, shh,” Steve told him. “Don’t try to talk too much. You’re exhausted.” Tony could feel his smile as he dropped his face against the back of Tony’s neck. “ _I’m_ exhausted. I feel like I can hardly move.” He nuzzled in there, left gentle kisses all along Tony’s sweat-slick neck, the dip between his shoulders. “I’m going to take you one more time, and you’re going to lie there and take it, right, sweetheart? Is that okay?”

Tony nodded, as eagerly as he could exhausted and numb and mind-foggy as he was, slurred, “s’okay, Steve, green, ‘m so green,” and Steve smiled and squeezed his fingers.

“You’re so good,” he said, and his voice was so tender, so warm, that Tony’s chest squeezed up to the point he couldn’t breathe, and his eyes burned. And Steve slid out of him, and it felt _strange_ , it felt so, so strange, not to have anything inside him, and then Steve pushed his legs open wide and slid back into him, and Tony felt it as he gasped and his body tried to tighten up with it, but he wasn’t sure how much it actually happened, and then Steve was leaning down over him, turning Tony’s head with his hand and rolling him until he was propped on his shoulder and Steve could tilt his head up and kissing him and all he could concentrate on was that, Steve’s tongue in his mouth, the heat and smooth sweet slide of their wet mouths against each other, how well used and bitten and puffy their lips felt, the sweet soft warmth of it as Steve mouthed over his lips, sucked on the bottom one and his breath feathered warm over Tony’s wet mouth as he mouthed little kisses onto both his lips before he leaned back in and pushed his tongue back into Tony’s mouth again. When he finally pulled away, Tony was panting, whined at the loss, and Steve made a soft, breathless, fucked out shushing sound, kissing down his neck until Tony tilted his head back, mouthing kisses over pulse and throat and then back up, back up over the nape of his neck and his shoulders.

And then he started fucking him again, slow, deep slides of his cock, nothing too demanding, even though it hurt, made Tony ache and tremble deep inside, but a slow steady pace that made Tony so, so aware of every throb of his body, every pulse of Steve’s heat and weight inside him, every wet noise his body made as his hole, his passage, sloppily welcomed Steve inside. It hurt, but it was tender, too, and Steve kept kissing his back, his shoulders, soft, slow, gentle, worshipful kisses that made Tony’s skin tingle all over. Tony felt warm and aching, all over, with every deep, steady thrust, his heart tight and warm in his chest as he gasped for breath with every time Steve stilled for a moment, deep inside him, and he seemed to be able to breathe.

Steve never stopped kissing Tony’s skin, the whole time, and when he stopped and came with one last hot, soft pulse and twitch of his cock deep inside and slid down to lie on top of Tony, all his weight on him, Tony couldn’t breathe at all.

He was lightheaded when Steve pushed himself up on his elbows again, nuzzled in against Tony’s jaw and left kisses there, kissed the tip of his ear, the line of his cheekbone and making Tony’s skin tingle with each kiss, even now, and whispered, “Thank you,” against Tony’s sweaty skin, feeling aching and raw even over his cheekbone, a little like he’d gotten too much sun, though it was probably just from his face rubbing against the blankets as he’d been fucked. Steve squeezed his fingers again, then let go, and Tony moaned, whimpered helplessly, as Steve straightened up and pulled out of him one last time, all that heat and warmth and solidity sliding out of him and away, leaving him open. The sound it made was so squelching and wet that Tony felt himself flush deeply, bright red, probably, all the way down into his chest.

He felt fucked wide open, wet and helpless, sloppy and gaping and wide and he could feel the air on his insides as Steve fell over to lie beside him, chest heaving himself, and Steve rubbed a heavy hand down over Tony’s sweaty back before he dipped two fingers inside Tony’s open gaping wetness. Tony whimpered, because it hurt, and he felt numb and aching and yet he welcomed the touch, because he liked how Steve had just slid them in without asking for permission, like he didn’t have to, like he owned him, or he knew Tony wanted him there, or both, liked it so much that it made his soft tired cock throb with heat against the bed, and because he hurt but he also felt _empty_ , and cold and trembling and hollow, like Steve had put something inside him that had been meant to stay there forever and then ripped it out again and left him forever changed, forever missing it, forever empty. It was weird hormones and exhaustion and sex and floaty—floaty weird submissive needy subspace talking, and he knew it, but that didn’t change how weird and empty and hollow he felt. Steve’s fingers made him twinge with a vague, far away, overtired hurt, but they also went a ways toward assuaging that ache, and Tony would have pushed back on them if he had any energy at all with which to do it.

“Damn, you’re wet,” Steve said wonderingly, sliding the fingers inside him even deeper, “you’re so wet, you spill over when I put my fingers inside,” and Tony flushed until it hurt and buried his face against the covers. He could feel Steve’s come dripping down, over his thigh. “Hey, no, don’t be embarrassed, Tony,” Steve said, laughing tiredly, and his thumb rubbed gently against the curve of Tony’s ass cheek. Steve’s fingers felt very big inside him, even still. Steve’s other hand came up, slid under Tony’s shoulder and squeezed. “I made you like this, I did this to you, there’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about. You gave me a hell of a gift just now.”

And he felt damn fucking unwrapped, Tony thought. He didn’t raise his head, partly because his cheeks were still on fire with embarrassed heat just _thinking_ about the state of his ass right now, partly because he didn’t have the energy. And yet—and yet he needed it, he didn’t want Steve to take his fingers away, didn’t want to lose his touch inside him, even against the raw, flaring pain of his overworked rim, his sore passage and aching insides, where he was slick and wet and dribbling over every time Steve shifted his fingers.

“Shh, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Steve mumbled, and he pulled Tony close, onto his side and back into Steve’s chest, put his other arm around him and his hand into his hair, and held him like that, stroking the sweaty, sticky, soaked curls his hair had turned into, leaving those two fingers deep inside Tony’s wet, messy asshole, just resting there, as if to remind Tony how he was leaking and aching, how he couldn’t even squeeze down around them, how little control over the loose muscles there he had left, and yet a welcome heat and weight and reminder, Steve’s presence still inside him, so he was still held and cradled in his arms, _completely_ , so he didn’t have to say goodbye to him inside just yet. Tony breathed against Steve’s chest, his shoulder, and if it hiccupped unsteadily sometimes Steve didn’t say anything, let Tony curl into him and tremble and _need_ him and just stroked him, gently, off and on, inside his sore trembling passage almost just the same as he did through his tangled hair, wetness trickling down over his fingers as he stroked Tony inside and it leaked out over his knuckles. Tony’s own arms were caught between them, palms flat against Steve’s chest, and he felt like he’d forgotten how to move them. He was dimly aware of his hips and jaw aching, of pain in his hole, but none of it felt like pain, and he didn’t care. “Shh,” Steve murmured again, and held him close, and put his lips in his hair. Tony realized he was trembling, his skin all over with goosebumps, but Steve held him, gentle but tight, and his warm strong hands eventually stroked the shakes out of him until Tony was lying there, pliant and hazy and dazed and still resting against his chest.

They lay there for a while, and eventually Steve’s hands stilled, and Tony let his grasp on awareness drift and thought Steve might be dozing, too. Steve was warmth and comfort and strength and his heartbeat and presence and the smell of him, all healthy sweat and the honey-thick smell of sex and musk and Steve's scent under it, familiar and sweet and a little bit salty with the sweat, filled Tony’s senses until he felt safe and warm and barely felt any chill despite the cold air on his own sweaty skin.

He wasn’t aware of sleeping, felt like he’d been half-awake and dozing the whole time, but he was aware of waking, and realizing that time had passed, when Steve shifted beside him, lips brushing against his forehead and fingers sliding out of Tony’s body. He whimpered, brought his legs together and felt how slickly his thighs slid against each other, felt how wet and messy he was all up and down the crease between them. He was sticky with come all the way down to his knees, still slick and wet over most of his thighs, between them. Steve trailed his wet fingers down the inside of Tony’s thigh, and Tony shivered as he touched the sensitive skin.

“You are a mess,” Steve said. “Oh, Tony. I’ve never had anyone do anything like that for me before.”

Tony raised his head, forcing bleary eyes to focus on Steve. That was a good thing, right? Steve wasn’t going to think Tony was a—a—an easy slut because he had done this, had let him do this to him, was he, or say nasty things about how Tony had—had—?

Steve’s hand cupped his face, his jaw, ever so gently, and he kissed him. It was warm, and loving, and sweet, and Tony gasped and leaned into it, feeling his eyes prickle with his relief as Steve’s mouth moved gently on his, his tongue softly laved over his bottom lip and just inside his mouth, very gentle and soft and almost chaste in the way he kissed him, despite the tongue, before Steve pulled away again and kissed Tony’s forehead. “I can’t believe you could take it,” Steve said, and now the gushing, reverent tone in his voice was unmistakable, even Tony’s uncertain ears. “You’re so strong, you’ve got so much endurance in you, that was incredible. That was amazing, you’re amazing.” Gentle touches, thumbs stroking his cheeks, over his beard, along his jaw, nuzzling kisses along his forehead. “You’re so beautiful, Tony, thank you.”

Tony moaned, because Steve had said he was _beautiful_ , thought he was beautiful, for it, not—not the other things he’d been thinking, and incredible, and he pressed into Steve’s touch a little more, not thinking enough to be worried about seeming needy or pushy or demanding or _too much_ , and Steve gasped a little and pressed even sweeter kisses over Tony’s face, along his jaw, worshipful touches over his neck and collarbone and shoulders and in his hair. Tony thought, _yeah, well, it hurt, don’t get too carried away, it’s not like I could just soak it up with no trouble_ , but he didn’t really care enough to say it, or to do anything but just lie there soaking it up, the sweetness of the loving worship in Steve’s voice, the warmth, the way he touched him, the love and care and tenderness until Tony felt warm, so warm and loved he was trembling all over again. Steve held him close and kissed him and kissed his face and stroked his shoulders and back and neck and his hair, and Tony floated on it, lived in it, soaked it up and felt his eyes prickle and sting and hid his face in Steve’s shoulder as Steve continued to touch him. It was strange, to feel so loved at Steve’s gratitude and warmth, to give something so deeply and entirely, to give so much of himself, and then have it accepted with such gratitude after, with so much warmth and caring to make sure he knew it was appreciated. Tony never expected gratitude, then it wouldn’t be a gift, but he wasn’t used to it, either, he realized as his hands started to tremble against Steve’s chest and his face felt hot. He felt hot all over, and almost self-conscious, except that it felt too good for that.

Eventually Steve stroked gently over his flanks and sides and belly and pulled away, other hand still pushing sticky sweat-damp strands back off Tony’s forehead. Steve was panting, smiling, and Tony felt himself smiling to see him so sweaty and winded, his hair soaked with sweat and his big chest heaving with tiredness. “Wore me out,” Steve said with a grin, and Tony smiled back, even as Steve curled his fingers around Tony’s and brought them up to his lips once more. “You took one hell of a lot, Shellhead.”

“Happy to,” Tony finally managed, and the words came out rasping and heavy, like a groan. Steve’s grin broadened, softened into a sweet, soft smile.

“I hope you don’t regret that too much tomorrow, sweetheart,” he said. “God, you’re good to me. You’re so damn good.”

“I—I try to be,” Tony rasped, feeling his eyes prickle again, helplessly, and Steve just put one hand on his shoulder, rubbed it gently with his thumb, steadying him until his eyes stopped burning.

“You _are_ ,” Steve said, firmly, and his tone left no room for argument. He squeezed Tony’s shoulder, slid that arm around him and just held him, and Tony felt himself relax into it, let his head go loose and fall forward on his neck, drooping downward, and Steve made a soft, encouraging noise and rubbed the back of Tony’s neck. “Shh,” he said, his voice all husky and rough and hoarse and tired, “that’s it. You take it easy. I’ve got it from here.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of the sexy aftercare chapter? And the sweet aftercare chapter is the next one. Just sort of turned out that way, really.
> 
> There is an enema administered here, though there isn't too much dwelling on it, if that's not your thing.

Steve’s shoulder felt good, warm and sweaty but sturdy, steadying under his head. Tony sighed and let it roll closer to rest against Steve’s neck. Still, there was something—this wasn’t quite—he’d wanted Steve to relax, too, not to give him more to have to deal with. Wasn’t Steve tired, too? “You’re . . .” he started, and his voice cracked and died in his throat. He swallowed, tried again. “You’re not too, too tired?” he finally managed to breathe out. “I, I wanted you to relax, honey.”

Steve kissed the top of his ear, stroking his fingers down over the back of Tony’s neck, and Tony sighed with pleasure at the feeling through the hazy thick warmth fuzzing his mind. “I am relaxed,” Steve murmured. “Seriously, Tony, I’m feeling so good. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to take care of you.”

That sounded good, Tony thought, letting his hand come up, slow and dragging, and trace designs on the sweaty, sticky skin of Steve’s chest, but . . . but maybe it sounded too good, maybe it was—maybe it was selfish. Because it sounded so good. “But I wanted to,” he murmured, “to do this for you. Make you feel good. I can, I can—” Okay, maybe that was bravado. Tony wasn’t sure he could walk as far as the bathroom, let alone take a shower on his own. But he was sure he could figure it out, somehow. Figure something out. “I can . . . .”

“Shh,” Steve said, and his voice sounded breathy and low. His fingers curled in Tony’s hair, stroking in a way that made him shiver and breathe out slow with pleasure. “I like takin’ care of you, you hear me? I’ll enjoy it. Let me do this, Tony.”

“Mmm,” Tony said, considering, and sucked on his bottom lip, but Steve was pressing kisses down along his jaw, bringing his hands up to trace lightly over the wet, sticky insides of Tony’s thighs, making him shiver as the skin tingled under the touch, up and around over his hip, and it was hard to think or focus. Maybe that was why Steve was doing it, even, but Tony decided he didn’t mind. He pressed a kiss against the hollow of Steve’s throat, and Steve gave a low hum of pleasure, scratched his short nails against the back of Tony’s neck in a way that sent tingling pleasure shivering along Tony’s skin. “Well, all right,” he decided. “That sounds good, Steve.” It came out a low mumble, but that was okay, too, right? 

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve breathed, his lips brushing against Tony’s forehead in a slow, wet kiss.

“Mmm,” Tony said again. He should be thanking Steve, he thought very clearly, but he didn’t seem to have the energy to make his mouth say that, and in another moment he had fuzzed out again, felt his hand stilling against Steve’s chest. Steve’s hand was still moving in his hair, stroking gently, and it felt good.

“Tony,” it was Steve’s voice, and at first it seemed to be coming from a long way away, except when Tony blinked his eyes open, he realized that Steve was still lying there beside him, Tony’s head pillowed against his chest. Steve’s hand was curving gently against his face, along his jaw. He gave him another gentle caress. “Wake up a little,” he murmured. “I’m going to give you a bath, all right? You can just lie here—you don’t have to do anything. That all right?”

“Mmm,” Tony said. “Yeah. A bath. That sounds—that sounds good?” It did, too. He needed one, or something. The more he thought about it, the more he was aware of how sweaty he was, how sticky, how much he ached, the wet mess of his ass, between his legs. He flushed, bit the inside of his cheek, and then Steve’s hand was stroking his cheek gently, another gentle caress with that hand.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Not too tired?”

Tony nodded. “Sounds good,” he repeated, more firmly, since Steve wanted to know his opinion. If it were just him here, he’d just pass out face down like this, he was sure, in his own come-sticky filth, still full of Steve’s spend and leaking, and wake up with it dried and disgusting all over him, and he knew Steve was tired, too (Steve, tired! He really had done all right, hadn’t he?), but if Steve was offering—if Steve was offering, was willing to help, he wanted clean.

Steve ran a hand through Tony’s hair and smiled. “All right,” he said. “It’s a deal.”

“You’re not . . .” Tony tried, and Steve turned back, looked at him again. Tony swallowed, tried to remember how to speak with some sort of clarity. “You’re not too tired?” he finally managed, and it came out all slurring and loose and slow and stupid, but he thought Steve had followed what he was saying.

Steve grinned. “I am tired,” he said, and sounded thrilled to be saying the sentence. He looked it, flushed and his big shoulders drooping a little, tiredness in the carriage of his neck and the way he slumped against the bed. “But I’ve still got a little left. Like I said, Tony, I want to take care of you. Let me?”

“It’d be good to be, to be clean,” Tony managed, feeling his eyes drift closed.

“I bet, sweetheart,” Steve said, and his hand stroked through Tony’s hair again. “You just stay here a second, all right?”

Tony nodded, and drifted a moment. He only woke again when he felt Steve’s hand on his hip, against his thigh. A moment later he felt something cool and slick at his sore, wet, sloppy entrance, and sucked in his breath, trying to flinch away, to roll over away from it. “No,” he groaned out, “please, Steve, no, no. It hurts.” His breath was sobbing in his throat as Steve grabbed his sore hip, making the bruises flare back into pain, and held him still, though the cool pressure eased, fell away.

“Shh,” Steve said. “I’m sorry, Tony, okay? I’m sure it hurts. It’s big, and you’re awful sore. I know. But would you rather have this plug inside and ache, or know you’re dripping all over the floor and the bathroom while I move you? Because you’re leaking all over already; you’ll make a hell of a mess if I move you without a plug inside you. It’ll drip out all over your thighs, all over the floor, into the carpet, probably, and I know how much you hate to leave a mess.” His hand stroked over Tony’s back, rubbed against the muscles at the base of his spine, and made Tony moan wetly, mouth open, at how good it felt. “It’s up to you, though,” Steve said, still stroking his back gently. “You don’t want the plug, I don’t put it in. I just know you hate to leave a lot of mess to clean up on the floor.”

Tony felt himself flush bright red, and buried his face in the blankets. The picture Steve painted was—he was right, he couldn’t—he couldn’t stand that, no, he couldn’t, not leak all over like that, not make such a mess with Steve’s come dripping out of his overfull, messy hole, but—the plug had hurt so much, going in. “Okay,” he breathed, felt his breath hitching in anticipation of that huge, aching weight return.  "I, I mean.  Put it in."

“That’s what I thought,” Steve murmured, and his hand slid back up between Tony’s thighs to press the thick, heavy plug in against his sore rim. And oh, it hurt, stretching him, thick and heavy and it had to be even bigger than Steve’s cock, and it _ached_ , it hurt so much, a heavy, constant, insistent, relentless pressure that left him so spread and full and aching and pinioned that it felt like he couldn’t move under the weight of it. It was metal, smooth and heavy between his legs, inside him, against his sore, spasming rim, and felt strange and cool and heavy against his painful loose, aching hole and the slack, overstretched muscles inside it. It had to be one of the huge plugs they usually used on Steve when he was feeling particularly cock-hungry; Tony doubted he’d ever been loose enough to accommodate it before in his life, considering how it stretched his loose, fucked-open, fucked-out hole still further, filling him up to the point of pain. His legs kicked as Steve slicked it with more lube, easing it in; he couldn’t help it, but Steve just held his thigh down against the bed and kept easing it in until he could lay his hand flat over the base and hold it there, and he did just that, pushing gently with the heel of his hand and making Tony flinch and tremble as the pressure teased against his sensitive, overstimulated prostate, made sensation shiver through him all over. It was that same feeling of pleasure overtaxed until it became pain, but there was a thread of true, aching soreness over and under and through it that somehow just made it feel more vivid, more intense.

“Oh,” Tony whimpered. “Oh. Ah. S-Steve.”

“Hurts?” Steve asked, soft and sympathetic. His hand moved away from the plug, both hands skimmed gently over Tony’s ass, down over his thighs, stroking, caressing.

“Full,” Tony said, and he knew there were tears starting in his eyes and he couldn’t help that. “So full. Oh, Steve, oh, God.”

“Shhh,” Steve said, “I know. You look absolutely stuffed, you know that? Filled up full to the point of overflowing, so that your hole is all taut and smooth and tight around the metal, and you’ve got come that foamed up all around it around the outside. My come.” His thumb ran in a slow caressing arc over the sore, taut skin of Tony’s trembling rim, and Tony whimpered, breath almost sobbing, almost sobbing himself as Steve’s callused thumb touched the sore, aching, terribly sensitized skin and he felt the slick wet smear of come under it, over the smooth chromed base of the plug. “You’ve got so much in there,” Steve said, in a breathless undertone. “You’re all slick and wet and shining down here.” He spread more come over the base of the plug, and Tony whimpered, felt his legs kick and twitch helplessly again. The plug was _so_ big, bigger than anything he’d ever taken, and heavy, too, and Steve touching his trembling, oversensitive flesh sent sensation arcing and bright, too hot and too immediate, lancing through him, and the slick slide of come under Steve’s thumb was a reminder of his own sloppy mess that he couldn’t get away from. “I filled you up so much,” Steve breathed, and Tony nodded helplessly.

“You really did,” he said unsteadily, and Steve gave a brief laugh, his thumb sliding down along Tony’s crease to stroke at his perineum again, just below his balls. Tony trembled, gasping into the bed, his hands closing into fists in the bedcovers, then loosening again, fisting again, in a helpless rhythm that matched how Steve was stroking that sensitive place, all the more sensitive with that impossibly heavy fullness inside him, the weight of the plug filling him up and pressing him down until it felt like he was tight and thin against Steve’s stroking thumb. His perineum ached, his whole backside ached, but it felt good, too, in a strange way, despite the heavy, too-much ache inside. In a strange way, it felt good to be that full, that stretched out, at the same time it felt overwhelming and weird and wrong, like the weight and stretch was its own kind of pleasure after Steve had been inside him, fucking him, so long. 

“I really did,” Steve agreed. “Never thought I’d see you stretch this wide, Tony. You look amazing.”

Tony hid his face in the blankets, tried to resist the urge to cover it with his hands or his arms. Hell, that was a little embarrassing, wasn’t it?

“You’re so open and you’re taking so much right now,” Steve said. His thumb ran over the base of the plug again, and Tony shuddered. “This is bigger than me,” Steve said, and Tony nodded helplessly.

“I—I know,” he breathed. “God, Steve. It’s so, it’s so big. I can’t. I can’t take it.”

“But you can,” Steve said, rubbed his thumb around it again, and then his hand was up, stroking the small of Tony’s back, and somehow that was soothing, made it easier to take, even as Tony struggled not to hyperventilate against the bedcovers. “You are taking it right now, Tony. You’re taking it nice and easy; your body isn’t even trying to push it back out. However overwhelming it feels, sweetheart, your body is ready for this right now. You’re that open. I fucked you that sloppy and loose.”

Tony moaned into the blankets, his mouth hanging open. He felt unable to close it, saliva smearing wetly against the bed.

“Let me take a guess,” Steve said, “and say this is the most you’ve ever had inside you. Am I right?”

Tony nodded unsteadily. It was so much. He felt turned inside out. He felt like he’d never be normal down there again. He felt like he couldn’t close his legs at all, but then Steve was doing it, pushing them together, and God, that just made it even more intense, made him feel the ache and the heaviness and the fullness even more as it adjusted the fullness inside of him, pushed on the plug so he couldn’t ignore it. He’d never even imagined being this full of anything. Steve was too much for him most of the time. But now he was full and aching and stretched around smooth metal, and it felt like he could feel all of Steve’s come the plug had trapped inside him, too, heavy and warm and liquid and sloshing in his wet hole and internal passage and even his belly. Steve was still stroking him, caressing, over his ass cheeks and thighs, and hips, and that made him feel even more aware of his fullness, the weight and the pressure. Tony found himself moving his hands down, cupping them uselessly against his own heaving, sweaty belly, against his sore hips. He couldn’t actually feel any evidence of Steve inside him, or the plug, except the wild, helpless fluttering of his stomach muscles as they clenched, the way his skin felt hot and bruised and achingly sensitive to every touch. It felt like he should be able to, but he couldn’t.

“I want you to think about that,” Steve said. “I want you to think about that metal filling you up, about how heavy it is and how full and stretched you feel. I want you to think about how open you must be to take it. I want you to think about how full you feel right now, and how empty you’d feel without it. I want you thinking about my come inside you, Tony.” His hand slid around, stroked lightly at Tony’s trail of hair, at the base of his belly, just above his groin. “How full and sloppy and leaking you are with it, sweetheart, because you’re a wet, dripping, leaky mess, and there’s so much inside you. I want you to think about carrying it inside you, all wet and sloshing and sticky in there, when I move you into the bathroom. I want you to be able to tell me how it feels after, okay?”

“N-not fair,” Tony mumbled, breathlessly, as heat built inside him at Steve’s words until he was rubbing his limp, flaccid cock against the bed, humping his hips against it helplessly and pointlessly, his useless cock prickling at the pressure, at the raw friction that made it burn, at the pleasure despite its softness, the way the movement left him so hyper-aware of the heavy weight of metal inside him, spreading him out so wide and so full. “Y-you know how it feels, Steve, you’ve had it, it inside you before.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve allowed, “but you know how I feel about being fucked, Tony, how bad I ache for a stupid big cock in me sometimes, how much I love the ache and the hurt and the spread, but you’re different. I want to hear how it feels for _you_. ‘Sides, it’s only fair, after how many times you’ve made me tell you how it feels when I’m so deep down in it I can’t hardly think.”

Tony groaned, whimpered and squirmed against the bed, but Steve was right. “Okay, that is fair, honey,” he finally moaned into the covers.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Steve said, and Tony groaned at him. He put his hand between Tony’s legs, the heel of his hand against the base of the plug, curving his fingers over one ass cheek, holding it steady as he stilled him, then turned Tony over onto his back.

The feeling of moving with it inside him left Tony panting and whimpering, moaning, his chest heaving. He felt very wet and messy and overwrought, disgustingly flushed and damp and sticky, as he looked up at Steve, but at least he was just as flushed and sweat-slick all over, hair plastered damply to his forehead.

“Shhh,” Steve said again, and stroked his hand down over Tony’s chest, rubbing gently over his belly. “You okay?”

Tony nodded, looked up at Steve and tried to focus on him, breathe deep.

“It’s not too overwhelming?” Steve murmured, and Tony felt himself smile.

“Oh, it is,” he said, and his voice sounded all slurring and thick, scratchy. “But it’s good. I don’t, don’t mind.”

Steve smiled and pet his hand gently down Tony’s flank, over his thigh. “You’re so generous and sweet, Tony,” he said. “I mean it.  Seriously.  You’re so good, for me, you’re such a good boy.  You really are. You feeling it?”

Tony bit his lip and tried to concentrate on how it felt, like Steve had asked. It was overwhelmingly huge, overwhelmingly full, and when he looked down at himself it was almost shocking to see his flat stomach, looking flushed and sweat-sticky but just the same as always, that he couldn’t see the outline of the huge plug inside pushing out against it, or the swell of Steve’s come, or something, after everything he'd left inside him. It _felt_ that big; he _felt_ that tight and full, so why wasn’t he bulging with it? It was strange to think he accommodated Steve that easily, the gigantic plug that easily, in the end.  Human bodies were wild.

Steve rubbed his thumbs against the top curve of Tony’s hips, down the crease and hollow where they met his thighs, skimming them down the insides of Tony’s wet, come-slick thighs, almost soothing, until Tony stopped trembling quite as much, then slid his hand back between Tony’s thighs, set the heel of his palm against the plug again, and used that hold to sweep Tony somehow up into his arms, his other hand going around his shoulders and bringing him in against his chest, head pillowed on the broad expanse of one flushed bare shoulder. Tony’s legs ended up flung over Steve’s other arm, and Tony realized he was being held in a modified princess carry, with Steve’s hand cupping him just at his ass, palm firm against the plug in his hole. He gasped, arching back, head falling back to bare his throat, trembling, couldn't help it. It all felt so overwhelming. He was so full, and now Steve had moved him, and it trembled through the pressure at his entrance, inside him, and then there was the prickle of awareness at the position, the humiliation that felt hot and delicious and _good_ rather than awful, as if Steve was worried enough about the plug just sliding right out of Tony’s open, gaping looseness that he had to hold his hand there, _that_ plug, as big and overwhelming as it was. He almost passed out as Steve moved him, thought he might have grayed out for a moment, because he came back to himself with his head rocking against Steve’s shoulder, Steve’s palm still firm against the plug, as Steve carried him across the room. He could hear Steve’s heart beating quick under his ear, his own heart pounding in his chest and in the throbbing, white-hot ache of his sore insides, his sore hole.

“Am I really that good?” he mumbled helplessly against Steve’s chest. Steve had said it again and again, and he kept thinking about it, his mind returning to those words, turning them over and over like he’d find the secret catch if he did.

“Tony,” Steve said. Gentle fingers stroked through his sweaty hair, stroking it back over Tony’s forehead, his arm still strong around his shoulders. “I swear, sweetheart. You’re so damn sweet, so damn generous, so damn good to me I—I can’t put it into words. I don’t know how else I can tell you.”

Tony’s breath caught, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not, Steve,” he breathed. “I can’t . . . I can’t . . . I can never be, be enough, for, I mean, what you deserve, so, so I have to . . . I want to, to please you, however I can, you, you don’t, you don’t know . . . .”

“I don’t know why you’re so down on yourself all the time, you’ve got that right, at least,” Steve said. “Tony, listen to me.” His voice was commanding, firm, strong, not quite his Cap voice, but not far off from it, either. “That was good, that was so, so good. You’re so incredibly good that . . .” he sighed. “Just take my word for it,” he said finally. “That was good. It was . . . it was incredible. Like I said, no one’s ever done anything like that for me before. So leave it at that and be happy, okay? Let it ride. I’m grateful.”

“O-okay,” Tony managed against his chest. He thought maybe he could do that. But there was something he had to—“I didn’t do, do it so you could b-be grateful, Steve,” he finally managed, hating how bad he was stuttering, but he was out of it enough he could barely talk as it was, so. “I did it to—I just wanted to, to please you. Please just. Just enjoy it? It was a, a gift, I mean.” He raised one weak, limp hand, indicated his own body, tapped his chest, then Steve’s. “From me to, to you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve said, and then he was kissing him, soft and deep and warm and wonderful, as he carried Tony toward the bathroom. “Okay,” he breathed against his lips. “I gotcha.” And when he finally pulled away, to set Tony down gently on his side on the floor of the shower, he kissed him again, kissed both his eyelids, and murmured, “Thank you.”

Tony smiled at that. “You got it, hot stuff,” he murmured, after he caught his breath from how Steve setting him down jostled the big heavy plug inside his sore body, how cold the floor of the shower felt against his sweaty, overheated skin. “Sure thing.”

Steve smiled, heartbreakingly sweet, on his knees in front of Tony, and stroked his hair back from his face again. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to start the bath. I want it pretty full before I get you in it, all right? I’m worried about this,” his fingers tapped gently at the plug between Tony’s legs, wandered softly over his sore rim, and his eyes were soft and full of sympathy when Tony couldn’t help but flinch and tremble, “and how sore you’ve got to be. I think probably way too sore to sit down, so I’m going to wait until the water’s high enough to take a lot of your weight and I can hold you. So just lie here and hold tight, okay?”

“Can do,” Tony breathed. A second later, Steve was folding a towel and tucking it under his head, then covering him with a second one. He kissed Tony’s forehead again, gently stroking the curve of his ear, his jaw, and then backed out of the shower and turned toward the bath.

It was a big one, and laid into the floor, because, well, why not, right? And it came in handy when soaking off the effects of a fight—one reason he’d made sure to install separate showers in every room in the mansion a long time ago. No one wanted to rinse off and then have to wash the residual blood and grime out of their bathtub before settling in for a soak after a fight. Or, after, uh, some marathon sex, too, apparently. Tony watched him go, then closed his eyes and tried to let himself drift again despite the chill of the floor and the shivers wracking him as a result.

He must have drifted off again at some point, though, because he was aware of waking up again when Steve came back and cupped his palm against his cheek. Tony looked up at him, blinking his eyes open blearily, and was aware that Steve’s palm felt damp and very warm against his own cheek. Very, very warm, so Tony’s skin had to be cold.

“You’re shivering,” Steve said, and his hand settled gently on Tony’s side through the towel. “You must be cold. I’m sorry.”

Tony shook his head, a denial that Steve could ever be anything less than perfect. At the thought alone, he knew he was very, very spaced out, more than he’d been in a really long time. His head felt very fuzzy, reeling and thick and overflowing with the worshipful submissiveness that seemed to well up inside of him and overwhelm him so entirely when he was like this with Steve, like it was a natural, intrinsic part of him that took over easily when he switched off the rest of his brain and Steve pushed him down gently into it, the kind of thing that urged him to roll over and link his hand around Steve’s ankle and rub his face against his foot and press kisses against it, though he didn’t, out of a vague idea that Steve wouldn’t like that level of deference, that suggested this position, prone and helpless at Steve’s feet, looking up into his face, still flushed, though the high color was fading a bit, and set in soft, loving lines that made Tony want to squirm with self-consciousness because how could that be directed at _him_ , feel like the most natural thing in the world, because he belonged here, lying at Steve’s feet, looking up at him in worship, it was only natural, when Steve was so far above him. The thoughts, the feelings, were almost embarrassing, they were so heartfelt, and Tony felt his face flush again.

Steve’s fingers curled around his chin, and he tilted his head up. “You’re cold and shivering and you’re way, way under, aren’t you?” Steve murmured. Tony kissed at his thumb with adoration but didn’t bother to answer. “I hope you’re not dropping too hard,” Steve muttered, “that’d be a hell of a way to repay you for everything, sweetheart.” His hands were very gentle as they moved the towel back off Tony and slid under his knees and his shoulders.

It was interesting, a sort of detached part of Tony’s mind thought, the part of his mind that analyzed things and categorized them to be looked at later, how much better he felt as soon as he was in Steve’s arms, warm and held, even though he was shaking and gasping all over again at the feeling of the plug inside him as he was shifted. Steve balanced him against his chest and his knees and stroked his hair and told him he was good again, and Tony felt himself smile and go loose, relaxed and fuzzy and warm, and yeah, Steve was right, he had to be far, far under, to feel so damn good at Steve’s praise, rather than wanting to turn away from it, to fight it, somehow, but in that moment Tony didn’t care at all.

Steve kissed his forehead again, then lifted him and carried him over to the bath. He didn’t even hesitate, just climbed right over into the water and sat down on the ledge that ran along one side of it, settling Tony into his lap, with his sore ass between Steve’s spread legs and his head against Steve’s shoulder, the water splashing up over Tony's chest and shoulders and surrounding him in a sudden, startling, pervasive warmth. Tony jerked, feeling very aware of the plug, but Steve’s hand firm at the back of his neck held him still, and he moaned, flopped one hand between his legs, under the water, and looked up at Steve questioningly, wondering why he hadn’t taken the plug out first.

Steve took his hand and kissed the fingers again. “No, not just yet,” he said, “leave it in. I want to clean you up first.”

Tony rocked on the plug, breathless, and whimpered at him, moaned, too far gone to care. It was so big, it filled him up so much, he felt so full and tight and pushed past his limits, aching and in pain, and his ass _hurt_. He wanted Steve to take it out, but it never even occurred to him to tug it out himself. “Shh,” Steve murmured. “No, Tony, leave it in. I promise, you’ll get used to it, you’ll forget it’s even there.” He reached down, stroked his thumb gently against the base, and Tony trembled. “Deep breath,” Steve said, and Tony obeyed. Steve stroked down the plug’s base again, and he trembled, again and again. “Let that breath out,” Steve said, and Tony obeyed. Steve thumbed at the sore base of his rim, and Tony whimpered. “Shh, deep breath,” Steve said, stroking up the plug again. Tony obeyed.

They kept at that for a long while, until Tony had sunk deep into the warmth of the bath water around him, on his sore muscles, and had fallen into the rhythm, and the deep-seated ache between his legs, at the base of his tailbone, didn’t seem so insistent or urgent anymore. It did feel weird, to have Steve stroking there, rather than against his skin, an odd distant feeling, oddly referred, as it traveled through the plug to his body, like a phantom caress, but it did, somehow, get him more relaxed and accepting of the plug inside him, reconciled to its heavy presence inside his sore body. Eventually Steve moved his hand up, stroking along Tony’s chest and sides, thumbing at his sore nipples so they flared into a dull ache, then gently returning to stroking his shoulders, rubbing his belly, his sides. His other arm curled around his shoulders and his hand came up to slide through Tony’s hair, and Tony sighed and felt tension leave him, closed his eyes and let his head turn in to rest against Steve’s shoulder.

“That’s it,” Steve murmured. “That’s it, Tony, just relax.”

His voice was so warm and loving, and Tony just let it wash over him, sink deep into him and wash all his other thoughts out of his head as he went soft and liquid and unthinking. He was barely aware of Steve shifting, reaching back behind them for something, and then he was holding a bottle of—oh, it was Gatorade, right, that made sense, to Tony’s lips.

“Just a little bit,” Steve said. “Can you—? That’s it.” Tony tilted his head forward, drank the swallow of lemon-lime flavored salty-sweet Gatorade that Steve gave him willingly, coughed a little as it made its way down his throat, which was drier than he’d realized. He reached up and Steve steadied his hand, helped him get his hand around the bottle until he’d taken a good few swallows and pushed it away.

“Thanks,” Tony mumbled. It had felt good to swallow the salty-sweet drink, all cool and easy down this throat, and it tasted strange and sweet on his lips. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d been at all.

“No problem,” Steve murmured, screwing the cap back on the bottle and setting it aside, Tony thought. “A little more later. For now, just relax.”

“Mmm,” Tony said, agreeing, and let his head slide down and rest against Steve’s shoulder again. It felt good to do that, to close his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep again, or dozed, or what, because he was aware of the warm water and the way Steve was holding him and rubbing his side gently, stroking his hair, but nothing else, and it didn’t feel like very long before Steve shifted, propped him against his shoulder and reached around him, but he was doing it to let out some of the water and refill it with hot, Tony realized belatedly when he blinked his eyes open and heard the sound of the tap starting up, so it must have been a long time.

“Shh,” Steve said, when he noticed Tony’s eyes open, and rubbed at the back of his neck with his thumb. “Take it easy. Don’t worry about waking up, all right?”

Tony nodded and let his face roll loosely along Steve’s neck, wet and warm with the bathwater and deliciously pink with his flush. Steve turned pink all over when he was in water hot enough, and it was adorable; Tony loved seeing him so flushed, red to delicate coral pink all over his body. Steve was still rubbing the back of his neck with his thumb, and it turned to warm, gentle scratches that made Tony shiver, before he reached across him again and Tony realized he’d picked up a washcloth. He wet it in the water from the tap and soaped it up before he started to rub it over Tony’s shoulders. He shivered at the touch of the terrycloth, the slight scratch, even soft as it was. He must have dozed off again, because he woke, shuddering at the feeling, as Steve shifted him and he became aware of the plug deep inside him all over again, the heaviness and weight and ache of it as it moved in his body, and Steve pushed him back against his chest and ran the soapy cloth down over Tony’s front, adjusting his arm around his shoulders to steady him as he did. Tony’s ass was still braced between Steve’s legs, but he felt very aware of the dull throb there, the weight of the plug inside him, the loose open ache of the muscles around it, of his rim, now that Steve had moved him again. He groaned, or something, and Steve murmured to him, told him to be good and stay still, and so Tony tried to do just that, stay still as Steve washed him, scrubbing gently at the sticky sweat of the trail of hair at his belly, running the cloth very gently over his sore nipples and making them twinge and heat shiver through Tony’s body and curl in his belly at the memory of how Steve had teased and tormented them.

It was a very intimate feeling, to be washed like this. Tony tried to raise his hands, tried to take the cloth from Steve, do some of it himself, but Steve just pushed his hands away and down, stilled his arms, and murmured that he wanted to do this, please, let him, Tony, and Tony sighed and gave up, let him, gave himself over to it, even as Steve slid his hand with the cloth down between his thighs. Tony’s thighs were a slick, sticky mess, or had been; he remembered that, and Steve was thorough, scrubbing at them, though gently, not hard enough to leave him raw, but with a certain amount of firmness. When Steve turned the cloth over in his hand to the less soapy side and brought it up to rub against Tony’s still plug-stuffed hole, he jerked in his arms, yelped and whimpered despite his attempts to keep the sounds back, as the soft cloth, feeling _very_ rough just there against the raw skin, brought all the feelings of sore, overwhelmed fullness and throbbing, aching painful sensitivity in his raw tissues and overworked muscles back with a vengeance.

“Oh, I know,” Steve said, and there was awareness and satisfaction in his tired voice. Tony knew he must have been anticipating that reaction and shoved at his shoulder with one tired hand, which made Steve laugh. “Sorry,” he said, voice warm and teasing, and Tony huffed.

“Sure,” he mumbled, and it came out a long, slurred drawl of a word, but Steve just laughed and tousled his hair. Tony hoped his sarcasm had been apparent enough.

“I have to clean you up somehow,” Steve murmured against his hair, his ear. “You know how sticky you are down here?”

Tony groaned and shook his head, even though he knew Steve was right. He needed to clean up down there most of all, and if he didn’t wash off, he’d be miserable with how well—dirty and sticky and gross he felt, the rest of the night. But it was overwhelming, it felt like so _much_ , and he was sore, he was damn sore. It hurt, but it didn’t _hurt_ , not in a bad way. But it hurt.

“Well, you’re awful sticky,” Steve said, thumb rubbing against the plug again, circling around Tony’s raw rim, making him tremble and suck in his breath and ache as he rubbed at the tingling, sore, painful flesh there. “All sticky and messy and wet for me, aren’t you, Tony?”

Tony nodded, unsteadily, because he knew Steve liked this stuff; hell, he loved it, and how often did he get a chance to indulge like this? Steve coming in Tony’s ass _once_ usually left him sore and flinching away from any touch down there, and he was still half amazed, himself, that he’d had the stamina to let Steve do something like this to him, and that he hadn’t panicked halfway through at how loose and messy and fucked out he was getting and told Steve to stop. Though that panic was rising in him a little now. How open was he? How messy and wet? What had Steve done to him? Was he ever—how long would it take before he went back to normal? Would this loosen him up for good? It didn’t work that way, he knew that, but—but he’d never been this open or loose before and Steve was superhuman. He could—maybe he could reshape Tony’s body entirely, break him open, change him, around his cock, and he—he—

He made himself relax, so his head lolled forward against Steve’s neck again and he went back to stroking Tony’s hair, the back of his neck, as his other hand rubbed and circled the cloth between Tony’s legs. The gentle rubbing at the back of his neck helped to relax him, even with the aching twinges every few seconds as the cloth slid over his aching skin. It felt like it was scraping along the raw, painful flesh, even though Tony knew Steve was being incredibly gentle.

He was thorough, that was for sure, and then he washed all the way up Tony’s crease to his tailbone, back down and up the other side until the cloth was playing gently over Tony’s balls. He gasped and twisted in Steve’s hold when he wrapped the cloth around his soft cock, half hard and stirring again now at Steve’s ministrations, and pulled up gently. It was soft and a little scratchy and rough and it made Tony arch and moan with pleasure, shocked and wide-eyed at how good it felt.

“I know I promised I wouldn’t try and get you off,” Steve said in a low murmur that sounded almost wistful, “and I won’t, I swear, but oh, Tony, it’d be so good to stroke you like this until you came. I bet I could make it happen. I bet I could make you come.”

Tony bit his lip. He wasn’t sure if Steve could make him come or not, he just knew he didn’t want to feel like he had failed him if he couldn't force himself to that climax, and the thought made his face feel hot and his breath tighten up in his throat and his chest, made sweat prickle with anxiety across his chest and forehead and the back of his neck.

“Don’t worry, I won’t push it,” Steve murmured in Tony’s ear. “I promise. I don’t need you to come, sweetheart. I won’t try to make it happen. I’ll just stroke you a little more, like this, and I want you to close your eyes and enjoy it, all right?” His thumb rubbed gently behind Tony’s ear, sliding to support his neck entirely, warm palm against the nape and covering the back of Tony’s neck completely. “Don’t think about anything else, don’t think about coming, don’t worry about orgasming at all, just feel the pleasure. Close your eyes and feel it. You copy that?”

Tony nodded. His head felt unsteady on his neck, and he was grateful for Steve holding it so steadily. “Mm-hmm,” he said, and it came out scratchy and rough and barely a thread of sound. He felt like he didn’t even remember what orgasm was, what it would feel like to come, anyway; he knew he had done it plenty of times, but he couldn’t bring it to mind over the more vivid, immediate memories of how it had been to be fucked loose and sloppy by Steve with his cock aching and prickling and half-hard and tired between his legs. And it felt good, it felt really, really good, not to worry about coming, about a peak he was far too tired to try and reach despite the itch that started to build in him that made him roll his hips, buck and whine and reach up with one hand to clutch weakly at Steve’s neck to steady himself.

“Shh,” Steve said, and his hand came down and held Tony still and steady, a steely grip that made it so he couldn’t do much more that helplessly roll his hips up into Steve’s hand, thighs and legs too weak and sore to provide much leverage, and kept stroking him with the wet cloth. It made Tony feel very warm and secure, held tight and helpless in the warm water, with pleasure washing over him from his tired cock as Steve stroked it with the soft roughness of the cloth, still prickling and raw from his repeatedly rubbing it against the bed, but not in a bad way. He felt his eyes slide closed, his mouth sag open, and then a wave of quiet lassitude and pleasure stole over him so he didn’t even have the energy to roll his hips, to do anything more than lie there and let Steve stroke him and make pleasure coil warm and twisting in his belly, hot in his groin and his thighs and his chest, until he was moaning and he had to be drooling against Steve’s chest with his mouth open like this but he couldn’t seem to care. Steve stroked him until he was very nearly hard, and Tony knew his cock was dripping with pre-come and need, but then he went off somewhere with the white-hot pleasure, slid under the surface of it, for long moments, maybe an eternity, and then Steve twisted the cloth over the tip of him and made Tony cry out and arch against him despite the limp, sore tiredness of his body, and brought it away.

Tony was left trembling, as wrung out and tired as if he _had_ come, feeling tired pleasure through every inch of his body. It seemed to take a great effort and a very long time to finally open his eyes and tilt his head back to look up at Steve. “Did I—did I come?” he asked, and his mouth slurred, his lips felt stupid and thick and his tongue loose and heavy at the same time.

“Not quite,” Steve said, and patted Tony’s cock gently with his fingers, made him shudder and gasp. “You’re still hard, and you’re very wet. But I think you came close, didn’t you?”

Tony nodded, bit his lip. Very close. The pleasure—it had felt so good, and it had built and built to a moment of intense—intense warmth, intense pleasure, but there had been no _peak_ , not the way coming usually felt. Instead it had just felt like a lot of pleasure, more piled on more but not building to anything in particular, and diffusing through his body instead of reaching that hot, high, bright shattering moment. “’s was good,” he mumbled, aware that the words were barely decipherable, if that, but unable to speak more clearly. “Felt good, Steve. Tha-thanks. Thanks. S’ real good.”

“Good,” Steve said, that warm pleasure in his tone, soft and full of innocent happiness at pleasing him. “I’m glad it felt good. I wanted you to feel good. I think you’re pretty damn sore, aren’t you? So I wanted you to feel very good right now.” His hands skimmed down over Tony’s body from shoulders to hips, soapy towel and all, and he took Tony’s cock and hand and wiped the cloth over it again with a corner he hadn’t used before, making Tony shudder and give a pathetic little whine he was aware of even in his blissed out, floating state that he’d deny ever having made later. Steve washed his balls again with the other side, the soapier side, making Tony hiss and whimper again, and his perineum, and the insides of his thighs, up over his hips, and then set the cloth aside and reached for another one. “You got that one all wet with pre-come, didn’t you?” he murmured, and Tony flushed, bit his bottom lip. “Can’t just smear that all over you; that’s not cleaning up.”

He soaped this cloth, too, turned Tony on his side, resting on his sore hip so that he sucked in his breath and gasped at the pain of the weight on the bruises, and gently ran it over his ass, cleaning each cheek, scrubbing off sweat and semen and lube, though this time he left Tony’s hole alone. He cleaned his ass and thighs and hips, up over his ribs, then turned him over on his other side until Tony was whining with the heavy weight of the plug shifting inside him, tugging at his rim and insides, washed him clean there, too, then wiped the cloth between his legs again, over his hole. “To get up any fresh come that’s leaked out of you,” Steve explained in his ear, and Tony flushed and bit his lip again, to think that he was so loose and full of come that he’d still be leaking it even around the huge, overwhelming plug that felt so big compared to his insides.

That done, Steve shifted him again, bracing him between his legs almost on his back, head held out of the water by Steve’s shoulder and one arm linked around his side, and reached down to grab at one of Tony’s legs just beneath the knee. He bent it for him, dragged it up, pushing the knee into Tony’s chest, and started to wash his legs, kissing his ear as Tony whimpered at how it tugged on the sore rim of his hole, shifted the plug inside him all over again.

Steve washed all the way down to the bottoms of his feet, rinsed him, then let his leg go, let it drift down to the bottom of the tub, and then switched to the other, bending it for Tony and making him whimper and shake all over again at the sensations in his hole, the way the plug felt like it was right in his core, tight and full and heavy and solid metal, as Steve washed and rinsed all the way down to the sole of his foot, making Tony bend his knee up to his chest and keep it there until he was trembling and gasping with every breath, overwhelmed tears starting in his eyes, to his embarrassment. “Shh,” Steve soothed him. “So good. You’re so good, Tony. Just let me.”

So Tony let him, just lay there and tried to let it wash over him, lay there with how overwhelmed he felt, even as Steve washed and rinsed his thighs again, his chest, his arms and shoulders and his neck, which felt very sweaty. It felt amazing to have Steve rinse it, wet the cloth and drag it gently over his throat, the back of his neck, along his jaw, before he set it aside and picked up another, this one even smaller and softer, and some of Tony’s face cleanser. “Close your eyes and your mouth,” Steve told him, and Tony did and tried not to squirm as Steve washed his face, wiped the cloth gently over his eyes and smoothed away any trace of those overwhelmed tears, wiped sweat off his forehead and soaped up behind his ears, scrubbed at his beard and his lips until he felt entirely clean and Steve rinsed it off with the other side of the wet cloth, and dried it with a fresh towel, leaving Tony’s hot, sweaty face feeling cool and clean and refreshed.

He went onto Tony’s hair without another word, squirting shampoo into his hands and working it in, lathering it up, with big handfuls, both hands, until Tony was groaning, his head lolling against Steve’s palms as he massaged his scalp and washed his hair. Steve took his time, took far longer than he had to, and Tony was aware of it, that he was taking his time, that he was going a little overboard with the pampering, but he was feeling too good, too transported, blissful and perfect, to care.

Steve had some plastic container waiting on the side of the bath that he filled up under the tap with warm water and used that to rinse the shampoo out of Tony’s hair. He did it a couple of times, sudsed up Tony’s hair again, rinsed it again, then worked conditioner into it with both hands before rinsing that out, too. It felt ridiculously good, and Tony knew he was moaning, face lolling against Steve’s neck and shoulder, and didn’t even care how obscene or ridiculous the noises sounded. It felt _good_. It was better even than sex, he’d have said in that moment, to have Steve wash his hair, to take his time with it, to massage Tony’s scalp and neck and run his hands through his hair so decadently. When he was done rinsing, Steve even moved his hands down to his shoulders and rubbed at them, in a deep, firm massage that made Tony twitch and tremble as sore, overwhelmed muscles relaxed by the warmth of the bath untwisted and smoothed out beneath Steve’s firm, massaging fingers and palms. He moved the massage all the way down Tony’s arms to above his elbows, then back up to massage the front of his shoulders, back over and down to his spine, before he slid his hands up and massaged the sides of Tony’s neck gently with his thumbs. Tony groaned again, his head lolling in his hold, and Steve kissed the top of his ear again.

“Feel good?” he murmured, and Tony groaned an affirmative. He felt so good he almost couldn’t believe it, at the same time he hurt almost all over, and it was a strange juxtaposition, but he didn’t mind it, it was good, somehow. Steve stroked Tony’s neck with his fingers, the back of his hand, and Tony sighed in pleasure, letting his head rest against Steve’s neck, his jaw. “That’s good,” Steve said. “I’m going to take the plug out now, Tony, and then I’m going to give you a shave, after.”

Tony whined a little, then bit his lip, embarrassed, but it was . . . it was intimidating, to think about the plug being taken out, even more than it had been to have Steve slide it into him in the first place. He’d be empty for the first time in . . . well, almost since they’d started this, except for a few minutes here and there while he’d blown Steve and everything, so in hours, or it felt like hours, anyway, and sure, it felt overwhelming and too big and painful, but he wasn’t at all sure how it was going to come out, or what would happen to him when it did, how it would feel. He’d gotten used to it now, just like Steve had said, and it felt strange to think about it being gone, and not being full, overwhelmingly stretched and stuffed with metal and come and lube, anymore. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Steve said, and his hands slid down, gentle over Tony’s shoulders, played gently at his nipples, thumbs stroking along the sides, skimming over the sore, tight peaks before they moved back to slide in slow horizontal strokes along the areolas. “You’ll be empty. It’ll be a change, that’s for sure. You’ve been filled up tight for so long. You’re stretched out to your limit, aren’t you, Tony?” Tony whimpered, bit his lip against more noises, trembling helplessly as Steve scratched his nipples gently with his short nails, pinched them, then stroked again before moving down to stroke at his belly. “I know,” Steve told him again, “but it has to come out sometime, and you’re nice and relaxed right now.”

“Full,” Tony told him, not making sense but unable to make more sense than that. “Too-too full, Steve, I. I.” But he liked it. But he didn’t want it to stop. He wanted to keep that too-fullness, inside him, making him feel bloated and heavy and making him ache and hurt, even at the same time he wanted it out, wanted to finally be able to relax rather than trembling around the too-big, too-heavy weight inside of him, the muscles in his thighs and belly tight and straining with the stretch no matter how he tried to relax, and he wasn’t sure which he wanted more.

“Oh, I know,” Steve said, wet hand skimming gently around to his back, over his wet shoulders and wet spine, slick and easy, shifting Tony a little, so he could look up at Steve better. “Way too full, Tony, aren’t you? But you like it.” 

Tony bit his lip and nodded, not meeting Steve’s eyes. He couldn’t. “I . . . ‘s too much,” he mumbled. “Hurts. But—but I do. I . . . full, Steve, I . . . s’ good. Full of, of you.” He liked that part of it, particularly. He tried to think. “I like that,” he finally said.

“You don’t really like pain, but you like to suffer more than a little in bed, huh, don’t you?” Steve said, warm and gentle and weirdly approving, like he—he understood, and felt it too, a kind of empathy and sympathy and understanding and warm desire all through his tone. “You like the strain, you like to work hard. You like the pain, like it when it hurts, when it’s tied up with something else you can do for me.”

Tony flushed. He did like that, he guessed. He liked that a lot. He was always chasing after the ache in his jaw from blowing Steve, because it meant he’d given him a lot of pleasure, blown him how he deserved to get a mouth nice and sweet on his cock, after the bruises Steve would press hard into his hips and thighs, because it meant he was giving it to him so good Steve was losing control, bruises on his shoulders and tailbone from Steve slamming him into the wall and fucking him there, or sore muscles from going too long. “Like it when _you_ hurt me,” he mumbled. “When you—you make it hurt. Or it hurts for, for you.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “You like to be _used_ , Tony Stark, like a good little toy, don’t you?”

Tony flushed even hotter, and wanted to hide his face, but he couldn’t be anything but honest, not at this point, not with Steve, so he nodded, humiliated.

“Like it when you, uh. Take me,” he mumbled, and his voice shook because of how true it was. Steve wasn’t particularly dominating most of the time in bed, and he had a big submissive streak, and he _loved_ to have a cock in him more than any other man Tony had ever met, but when Steve did take Tony, did hold him down or push inside him and use him or pushed him to his knees and fucked his mouth, or—Tony wasn’t sure he could have gone so easy for any other man, except Rhodey, because Rhodey, Jim had always made him feel safe. Even when they’d had sex, which wasn’t all that common, the feeling safe once you got into bed, in Tony’s experience. But Rhodey didn’t _want_ to own him, he wanted to share Tony’s pleasure, always. It was good, but Steve would take him, would own him, would make Tony his, and even when it was humiliating the next day to think about how much he’d wanted to give himself up to him—it always felt good, too. Like Tony had needed it.

Like it gave him a warm . . . center, something stable to hold onto, the next time he felt you know, down, that Steve had taken him, and wanted him, and accepted all that hideous need and not pushed him away, not told him to be stronger, not told him to stand on his own two feet again, just taken what he gave until Tony couldn’t give anymore, and used Tony and made him his and the best part of all was that when Tony wanted to stand up, on his own feet again, Steve never begrudged him, never reminded him of the time he’d spent teary-eyed and groveling and weak, never thought that Tony should agree with him more, maybe, now that he’d let Steve see that and given Steve so much of his soul and his weaknesses, never grudged it of him when they were arguing or reminded Tony of sucking his cock or begging Steve to break him or use him, even when they were fighting.

Not that Rhodey would have ever done that, either, but he would have been uncomfortable with the begging and the need to be broken in the first place. And other people, uh, had. And did. Remind Tony, of having—well. He’d made enough bad decisions there. It was why he’d stopped. Stopped letting himself beg, or go under. Stopped letting himself indulge that need to be taken apart. For a long time. Jim, when Tony had been paralyzed and scared and needy and probably a huge asshole along with it, the way he’d sniped at him and controlled him and alternated between pushing and pulling and being so damn needy with it the whole time, he’d been the first person Tony had let send him under, well, since he’d been sober. He hadn’t even dared let Steve try it in those days, had never so much as alluded to wanting it, had been so scared that Steve wouldn’t come back to his bed if he had. 

It seemed stupid now, but that fear had seemed very real, and very likely, at the time.

“I know,” Steve said, all warm, voice not judgmental at all, and his hand came up along Tony’s neck, to cup and support the back of his head, warm against his hair. “And I like to take you. You give it up for me so sweet.” His thumb came up, rubbed warm over Tony’s lips, just under the bottom one. “Because you are awful sweet, aren’t you?”

Tony flushed, knew he hunched his shoulders, shook his head.

“Yes, you are,” Steve murmured. “But someone convinced you a long time ago it was a bad thing. But it’s not bad to be sweet and soft, sometimes, Tony, not with me. You get sweeter than anyone I’ve ever been with when you go under.”

Tony’s face was very red now. He wasn’t sure what to say. Steve raised his other hand and rubbed it along Tony’s face, cupping his jaw gently, so his face was framed by big, strong hands, though he didn’t force Tony to meet his eyes.

“Sometimes I like it when you’re this far under just because I can tell you how sweet you are without it ending up in a fight,” Steve said, sounding rueful. “Because I think it’s a good thing, sweetheart. You don’t have to act like you want to sock me one for saying so.”

“I—I wouldn’t,” Tony said, flustered.

Steve grinned. “You wouldn’t like this, nah,” he said. “But if we were sparring right now, you’d try to plant your elbow in my gut for it.” Well, yeah, Tony thought, biting the inside of his cheek and frowning, because then it’d sound like a taunt, wouldn’t it? He’d assume that was what Steve wanted him to do. But then—wouldn’t he usually assume Steve was teasing him, if he said something like that, and bristle, because you had to, you had to—to respond the way the—the other guy expected, and men didn’t call other men sweet to be _nice_. Did they? “You don’t exactly take compliments easy, not unless they’re ones you’ve been fishing for.”

Tony shook his head. “Wrong,” he said, because he knew that wasn’t right. “I brag all the time. I—I’m always acting like—”

“You’re always fishing for compliments and bragging on yourself until no one wants to give you any,” Steve said, “so then no one does, because you wouldn’t know how to handle it, unless someone gave you grudging praise _despite_ your so-called ego. That way you get to control what everyone says about you, huh? You don’t want someone to give you some kind of compliment out of the blue, you wouldn’t know how to respond to that, so you wouldn’t be in control.”

Tony blinked. “No,” he said. “That’s—that’s not—” but was it? And he didn’t even know how Steve had seen that. He’d never thought about it like that; he’d literally never thought of it that way before, and now he was going to have to think about that, and—and that felt weird.

“Isn’t it?” Steve said. “Well, maybe not, sweetheart.” His thumb smoothed gently along Tony’s warm cheek. “You’d know better than me.”

“How did—how did you—” Tony flushed, looked down. “Am I that transparent,” he muttered.

“Uh, no,” Steve said, and laughed. “It took me ten damn years to figure that much out,” he said. “And I’m still working on the rest. I’m not exactly quick on the uptake here, Tony. I’ve just put a lot of work into you.”

“Sorry I’m so much trouble,” Tony muttered, feeling self-conscious and naked and raw for more reasons than his raw muscles and naked body.

“It’s not trouble, Tony,” Steve said, all earnest truth. “You’re just complicated, is all. And I’m a little slow.” He flicked Tony’s cheek gently with his finger and the water, and made Tony screw up his face and swear at him in surprise. “Now get up on your knees and let me take that plug out,” Steve told him, and put his hands on Tony’s hips.

He didn’t give Tony much choice, bodily moving him, but Tony wasn’t in any mood to fight him, even so, didn’t have any desire or probably even any capability to resist. He let Steve push him up to his knees on the bench built into the bath, despite the way it made the plug shift inside him, made him shift and gasp and sweat and whimper at the feeling, as every shift made shivering hot sensation sweep all through his insides and twist in his belly, and bend him over the side until his chest was flat against the folded towels Steve had slid under him. The lip of the bath dug into his belly, against his hips and his cock, with chill dampness that made him shiver, the pressure leaving him hyper-aware of how full and tight he felt inside, the pressure and weight of the plug huge and heavy against _everything_ in there and his stomach tight and wrenching with the pressure. With his height and the length of his legs, this position left him with his hole, flinching and clenching helplessly on the plug despite the loosened muscles at the cold air against it, just out of the water.

Steve stroked his hand down his back, rubbed it against the small of Tony’s back, against his shivering muscles. “Relax,” he murmured. “Don’t think about it. Just lie there. Let yourself relax.”

“I—I thought you were going to, to make me describe . . .” Tony managed before he trailed off, breathless, because he couldn’t seem to get much air in with his belly tight and compressed like this, the pressure inside.

“I was thinking about it,” Steve said, “but I think I’ll just ask you later. Unless you want to tell me now.”

Tony flushed. Did he? Was that why he’d brought it up? Secretly, subconsciously, he wanted to humiliate himself by talking about it like this? Maybe. Maybe that was true. He had a feeling that Steve was waiting, now. He swallowed, wetted his lips. “It’s, I, uh. I.” He swallowed again. “Really tight, and. And full. I feel like I—I can’t breathe, and like there’s . . . there’s no more room in, inside me. In there.”

“You sound like it,” Steve said, fondness in his tone as he rubbed his thumb in a gentle circle against Tony’s spine. “You’re all breathless, like you can’t get a deep breath.”

“It feels like that,” Tony gasped.

“You can, you know,” Steve said. “It’s filling you up lot lower down than your lungs, sweetheart. You can breathe just fine.” Steve draped another towel over Tony’s back, and it seemed to trap some of the warm air, helped him not feel so cold. That was nice.

“But it feels so—so tight,” Tony said, straining to keep track of what Steve had said last. “It’s so—so much. Ah. I feel so—so full, I can’t, Steve, there’s too much. There’s so much pressure there.”

“Mmm,” Steve said. “Here?” His thumb pushed gently at the plug, and Tony gasped, cried out, as the plug shifted, pulled a bit on the raw skin around it. “Right here, Tony?”

“J-Just inside,” Tony moaned. “Where it’s . . . it’s big. It’s so . . . big, just—pushing against me, inside.” He was repeating himself, and he knew that, but he couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say.

“Yeah, it widens out real good just in there,” Steve murmured. “To keep it nice in there, in your loose little hole, because you are loose right now, Tony, all sloppy and wide. Does it feel big?”

“Yeah,” Tony gasped, breathless. “It feels so big, Steve.”

“But you took it inside you with no trouble,” Steve murmured. “Good little boy, with your good, loose little hole.” He thumbed at the rim, and Tony gasped, whimpered, shaking. “Well, not so little anymore, right now,” Steve said, all gentle teasing, and Tony felt himself flush, over his neck and down into his back, all over. Steve was right; he was so loose, wasn’t he? Steve had fucked him so loose—loose and open and gaping and, and huge, and—

And he wasn’t little, not at all, he was over six feet, but he was smaller than Steve, wasn’t he? And Steve was going to use that now, he could tell, now that Tony had confirmed being mastered like that and made—made to feel small could turn him on, Steve was going to remind him that he was smaller whenever he wanted to make Tony feel that jolt of heat in his cock. Well, Tony couldn’t complain about that, not really, especially since he gave it back to Steve just as much.

Steve’s hands came up, his thumbs pushed along his crease, along the sides of his rim, either side of the plug, until Tony cried out, formed his hand into a fist and beat it helplessly against the towel under it without even realizing he was doing it, to somehow let out the overwhelming feeling, the ache that wasn’t exactly pain but still _hurt_ , hurt under Steve’s fingers and deep, deep inside. Steve tugged on his rim, spreading him around the plug, pulling his cheeks apart to get a good look at it, and oh, it hurt, he was so sore, the raw sore ache flaring into pain, and Tony gasped and gasped and groaned against the towel, saliva dripping helplessly out of his mouth onto fabric. His fingernails dug into the towel, and he was glad Steve had put them down so he could bunch them up in his hand rather than helplessly scrabbling at the floor, because he needed to do something with his hands, he had to, if Steve was going to tease him like this, because it—because he had to, he had to let it out somehow, it was so—so much.

“Shh,” Steve said. “Easy.” And Tony almost laughed, because—how, how was he supposed to take it easy when he felt like this, when Steve was doing this to him? But then Steve bent over him and pressed a kiss to the small of his back, up and down his spine, fingers trailing gently up along Tony’s crease to his tailbone, drawing small, soft circles there, then sliding back down. Tony shivered at first, over-sensitized and wet so that even the warm, steamy air in the bathroom felt cold, his skin prickling into gooseflesh, but as Steve kept kissing him, stroking him gently, his other hand coming up to rub at Tony’s belly and sides under the towel, both hands stroking over his ass cheeks, the sides of his ribs, then gently up and down over his crease again, Tony felt himself starting to relax all over again, his body loosening up, going limp despite himself. He thought, vaguely, that he loved how Steve touched him like that, all over, like no particular part of Tony was more or less intimate or secret or embarrassing than any other part of him, that he loved touching every millimeter of him just as much. He could feel himself slumping, relaxing, his body pressing down more heavily into the tub, and Steve just kept stroking him, kissing up and down his spine, for a long time, until Tony felt limp and relaxed and loose, without an ounce of tension in him. By the time Steve’s fingers moved down to his hole again and rocked against the plug, Tony had almost forgotten what he was going to do next, and even then the thought wasn’t enough for him to tense up again. He tried to spread his legs as obligingly as possible and pillowed his head on his own arms.

When Steve touched him again, his fingers felt slick and cool with lube. He kissed the curve of Tony’s ass, skimmed his thumb up along Tony’s crease over the plug, up along the curve of Tony’s body, rubbing at the end of his crease, then back down to trace it in circles just above the plug. Tony sighed, felt himself exhale as if from a long way away, he was so relaxed and out of his head. Part of him knew that Steve was about to start tugging the gigantic plug out of him, and that that would be intense, but he couldn’t seem to focus on it long enough to tense up.

Steve slid his thumb in first, at the top of Tony’s hole, just above the base of the plug, nudging against Tony’s stretched rim, and Tony gasped, felt his fingers clench up in the towel under him, even as the slow, heavy lassitude of relaxation didn't leave his mind. It was—it was intense, all right, but as long as he didn’t concentrate on it, it felt like nothing more than a little more stretch, his brain oddly accepting of Steve pushing him a little more, a little wider.

“Shh, that’s it,” Steve murmured. “That’s perfect, Tony, that’s so good, yeah.” Another finger edged in along the plug, slick and dripping with lube but still a little harder to take, and Tony moaned, his hips bucking despite himself, and rocked away from it as his fingers dug tightly into the towel. “Sorry, shh,” Steve murmured. “It’s a lot, I know.” He brushed a kiss over the base of Tony’s spine, slid in another finger that made Tony gasp and moan against his own arms, then tugged gently at the plug. “Oh, yeah,” Steve murmured. “Your body was grabbing that tight, wasn’t it? Deep breath.” Tony took a deep breath, obediently, blew it back out, and almost immediately felt the tension in his belly relax, that warm relaxation sliding back up and washing over him gently. “You almost never take something this big, so I just want you to lie still and take it easy, okay?” Steve added in that soft, low voice in another moment, and Tony felt himself nod lazily. He’d do his best, that was for sure, and he couldn’t think straight enough to do much more other than try to keep still anyway.

The feeling was strange, the heavy metal weight shifting as Steve nudged at it, teasing at his insides and mostly reminding Tony how sore and tired they were, but there was pleasure, too, shivering in each heavy shift of the thing, and the girth was such that it teased against his prostate almost every time it moved, and even though his prostate was just as sore and tired as everything inside Tony felt, it still sent pleasure sparking hot through him to pool in his dick. Which was still soft against the bathtub, Tony could feel it, but, well, it felt like it was. It was strange all the way around—it was strange to have such a huge, heavy weight inside, even bigger and more solid and insistent than Steve’s dick, strange to feel Steve’s fingers tugging at it, strange to feel pleasure shooting to his cock and have it remain soft and flaccid against the cool side of the bathtub. He kept reminding himself to take deep breaths, partly because Steve had told him to, partly because he knew it would help himself stay relaxed, and tightening up right now of all times wasn’t going to make this any easier.

Steve tugged it from side to side a bit to start with, and Tony could almost feel it as his body loosened its grasp on it deep inside, and gasped at the depth of the feeling as his body started to loosen.

“Easy,” Steve muttered, and Tony could feel it as his fingers swiped more lube along it inside his body. He must have reached for the bottle with his other hand, because then there was more there and he was pushing it into Tony with his fingers. It was strange to feel it as Steve pried him open a bit, an impossible stretch that made Tony gasp, feeling his lips drag along the soft terry of the towel as he panted, and the liquid slid deeper down inside him. It did make the slide easier as Steve went back to tugging the plug from side to side, with messy squelches that made Tony flush, made him feel like even his back was flushing with it a little.

Steve pulled it back and forth, in and out just the tiniest bit, and Tony knew he was spreading the lube around, but the sensation as he pushed it in and out and there was the slightest bit of drag against his internal tissues, only to have that blunt thickness push back in against them—he gulped against the towel, feeling like he was drooling again, his mouth wet, and yet unable to keep his mouth convincingly closed as he panted. A moment later Steve’s fingers pushed into Tony’s thighs, pushing his legs apart a little more, and Tony groaned and tried to widen them obediently, feeling the water splash and lap at his legs, almost right up against the curve of his buttocks.

Steve’s hand returned to Tony’s ass a moment later, holding him with one thumb hooked at the edge of his rim, prying him apart as Steve tugged at the plug with the other three fingers. He was being very gentle and very slow, and Tony wasn’t sure if that was just to tease him with the sensation, or just because Steve wanted to be as careful with him as humanly possible. Or maybe both, that was entirely possible, too.

It was an incredible sensation as Steve pulled the first bit of the plug out of him, turning it to the side slightly and working it out at an angle. There was an intense, aching pull, a heavy, insistent drag over his tissues deep inside, and Tony hadn’t felt a lot that was more intense than that, even in his lifetime. He whimpered, or something, didn’t even hear himself, just felt the sound in his chest and vocal cords.

“That’s it, shh,” Steve said softly, sounding like he was concentrating, but his voice sounded ragged, too, even through the ringing in Tony’s ears. “You know how amazing this is? I’ve never seen you take anything this big, Tony, you look—you look wonderful. Shh. I know; it’s got to be a whole hell of a lot.”

Tony gripped tightly against the towel under his hands and tried to remember to breathe. It seemed important, even with the incredible intensity of the drag as Steve worked the plug out of him slowly. His inner tissues felt worked over and sore and—and puffy, as the smooth metal pulled against them and they quivered and worked to keep it inside, and oh, God, it was so big, how had Steve even gotten it into him in the first place? It was like the feeling of Steve’s cock pulling out of him, but it felt a hundred times more intense with the metal’s hardness and the thing’s size. And Tony would have said he was nearly numb inside before, but this was proving him wrong completely, and he couldn’t believe how deeply those intense twinges of sensation from his rectum seemed to penetrate into his body.

“Right up to your limit, like I said, aren’t you,” Steve murmured, and Tony thought on a whine of a breath that now he was, for sure, with Steve’s fingers in there, too. He felt stretched impossibly wide. “Relax for me, another deep breath.” Tony struggled to obey, bracing his forehead against his arms, and was rewarded with the warmth and approval in Steve’s voice washing over him, sweet as honey, when he said, “That’s it, that’s so good, Tony, that's perfect, good boy, that’s a good boy.”

That wide bulge just inside felt almost impossible as Tony could feel it pressing against his rim, and how the hell had that fit into him in the first place, and he could feel another surge of that panic, that this was going to break him open, that he couldn’t take this without being reshaped inside, for the huge plug, for Steve and his big dick, and that was stupid, he knew, people took stuff this size all the time, or they wouldn’t have been able to buy it, would they, and Steve had taken this very plug, but Tony—Tony wasn’t Steve, and he’d never ever felt like this before, so open and messy and slick and squelching, and how loose was he going to be after this—

“Hell,” Steve breathed, and his thumb rubbed along the edge of Tony’s rim, and Tony thought, with a strange throb of pleasure in his dick at that hoarse, sexy-deep tone of Steve’s voice, _at least Steve’ll like it, seeing me all open and wet and loose, no matter what_ , and somehow that did make it feel easier, because he did love feeling like his body got Steve hot, even when he felt split open on a huge metal plug and Steve’s fingers, even when it was weird and embarrassing and—and not necessarily easy. “God, you’re—you’re sexy like this,” Steve murmured a moment later, “all split open wide for me. You take it so good, never imagined how good you’d take it.”

“Steve,” Tony managed to get out, a breathy, gasping moan of a thing, but still, “p-please.”

“I know,” Steve said, “I know. It’s too much for you, really. This is the biggest part, Tony, I promise, and it’s almost out of you, just needed to stretch you back open for it, that’s all. There we go.”

Tony felt it, the give, as one side of it slipped out of him, past his prickling, throbbing, overstretched ache of a rim, and gasped. There was a big, blunt head to the thing, too, but that was definitely the biggest part, and he felt it as a wave of intense sensation as it slid out of him, all dragging pull and the throbbing ache of him inside. He made some sort of noise again, and Steve moved the hand on his ass up to rub at the small of his back. There was pleasure, too, the big smooth weight, the heavy drag and the slick slide along him inside like an inhumanly smooth, steady touch against his most sensitive, intimate places, heavy insistent pressure and constant sensation. He couldn’t have said how long it took Steve to tug the rest of it out of him, because it was all just an overwhelming jumbled mess of sensation in his head, the only thing he was capable of thinking about staying still like Steve had said, not pain, not pleasure, not stretch or pull or drag, but all of it at once and so intense Tony felt himself panting, making helpless noises into the towel he was afraid were way too loud.

He couldn’t believe it when it finally slipped out of him almost easily with a wet, obscene squelch, could hear the gasping little cry he gave against his own arms. He could feel himself dripping, lube and come, no doubt, could feel the weak, helpless, clenching flutters of his rim and knew it was unable to close. He felt—he felt _used_ , and empty, and impossibly fucked, worked over and used until every muscle ached and throbbed and missed that huge intrusion pressing against his sore insides. He didn’t want to even think about how ragged and swollen his asshole probably looked, even as he felt Steve’s fingers against it, tracing gently along the puffy, swollen rim. It flinched like a new, gaping wound at his touch, prickling and sore, and Tony couldn’t stop it; it wasn’t even _that_ sore, since it was mostly numb from the stretch, but his body knew how much it had just taken and was wary of more abuse from that quarter, or something, still trying to close in on itself.

Steve’s fingers slid into him all the same, easily, almost casually, as he slid them around, as he leaned forward, just leaving them in there, moving in a slow massage against Tony’s quivering, aching, puffy internal muscles, and set the plug in front of Tony on the towels. “See?” he murmured into Tony’s ear. “So big, and you stretched for it all nice and wide. No blood, not a single tear I can feel in here, sweetheart.”

Tony moved his eyes up, forced them open again from where he’d pressed his face tight against his arms, and felt them widen. The plug was . . . well, it was _really_ big, and steel, too, to boot. Steve always felt like a tree trunk pressing into him, but that plug had to be at least ten centimeters at its widest point, and it was almost as long as Steve. “Oh, God,” he choked, and felt his poor ass spasm around Steve as he gasped for breath.

“You took it real well,” Steve promised him, and kissed the top curve of Tony’s ear as he gasped for breath. “It might take you a few days to heal up, though. I promise I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Uh, yeah,” was all Tony could gasp. The weirdest thing was how little he really did hurt—sure, everything hurt, and he ached inside with a persistent edge to it that was almost too much, right there on the edge of strain that when he let himself dwell on it burned and made his muscles shake with real pain, but it seemed like that thing should have ripped him open and torn like agony as it pushed into him, and it hadn’t. It had felt overwhelming, too much, but good. But still, his ass and thighs strung and ached with overstrain, and he felt overwhelmed, exhausted, just looking at that thing. Even more humiliating, and, well, hot, he could admit it, felt the twinge in his cock just looking at it, he could see it still wet and dripping from having been inside him, the pearly sheen of Steve’s come dripping down it, the glistening bright wetness of lube. He could feel himself dripping around Steve’s fingers, too, down his thighs, into the water, and wondered just how wet he was in there, just how full up of come, to be just oozing it around Steve like that in a steady stream.

When Steve moved back and took his fingers away, they squelched again, and Tony flushed, feeling messy and wet and wide, wide open.

“Oh, wow,” Steve breathed, and his voice was all husky, sex-thick again. “You look just beautiful, Tony. Never thought I’d see you stretched this far. So wide and so pretty and leaking my come all over. Such a pretty dusky rose color, and you’re flushed so deep around the outside here, and I can see inside, here, and you’re such a deep, velvety red.”

God, Steve, with the—the colors, and the descriptions. Tony knew Steve was an artist, and he probably thought all kinds of things like that, probably had a True Color code in mind and everything for all sorts of interesting colors Tony had managed to turn over the years, but it was overwhelming for him to hear it out loud, and his cheeks felt fiery hot; he felt dizzy. “Jesus,” he muttered.

Steve laughed. “Sorry,” he said, and his voice was still all low and sex-deep. “It’s just—you’re gorgeous, Tony, and I really want to get my fill of looking at you like this, because I know I’m not really going to get too many more chances.  You are a little swollen, though; I'm sorry about that.”

“Are you hard,” Tony slurred into the blankets, after a moment of trying to get his mouth to work around the words.

He could practically hear Steve blushing from behind him, the bashful way he shifted in the water. “I wasn’t going to say,” he said, and it was a low, shamefaced mumble, “you’ve taken enough from me already, I can’t make you go again.”

Ugh, just the thought of it made Tony’s sore ass clench and spasm. “Rub one out on me insted,” Tony mumbled. “Come on, do it. I want you to have as many—many orgasms as you want, sport.”

Steve laughed, sounding a little overwhelmed, but then he was leaning over Tony, and oh God, yeah, that was—that was his dick, hot and huge and vivid, against Tony’s thigh. “You’re too sweet to me,” he mumbled in Tony’s ear, but he was doing it, Tony could feel the sliding jerks as he pushed himself up against Tony’s legs, and struggled to shuffle them together to give Steve a better place to rut. Once he had them together, Steve gasped, and his hand fell to Tony’s thigh, digging in against the sore muscles, his thumb rubbing along them, as he started to rub his dick up and down the crease Tony’s thighs made pressed together, not between them, but still hot and warm all the way up and down, and Tony found himself wondering how that felt with the water, even as his wet, leaking hole twinged even at the slight pressure of Steve’s dick sliding up over it before he jerked back down. Steve’s other hand curled, open, against Tony’s back, and he could feel him panting, sweaty and ragged.

It seemed to take a long time, for Steve, before he was gasping, coming all over the back of Tony’s thighs in hot wet spurts that made him squirm, heat pooling in his cock even despite his soreness and exhaustion. Steve’s hand came up, sliding up and down over the warm spattered come, rubbing it into his skin, and Tony sighed.

“Sorry,” Steve said after a few moments, sounding breathless. “I’m going to have to wash you off again.”

Tony gave a breathless laugh at that, and felt it all through him, in his sore stomach muscles and even in his open, throbbing asshole. “Just as long as you had a good time,” he said, and it came out all slurring and mumbled, but he thought Steve understood him anyway.

“Wonderful,” Steve murmured, and leaned up, kissed the back of Tony’s neck, before he pushed his legs slightly apart again, and the next thing Tony felt was soapy fingers and a washcloth rubbing his thighs, up and down. It felt good, like a massage on the sore, shuddering muscles, and he sighed and let his eyes close, let himself fuzz out for a good few minutes, as Steve soaped him up and scrubbed him down and rinsed him clean again.

The next thing he felt with any clarity was Steve’s finger tracing the flinching rim of his asshole again, and sucked on his breath on a moan.

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve said, all breathy. “I just can’t get enough of how you look like this.”

“I know,” Tony managed to slur, somehow. “Used, come-stuffed assholes are your kink, tiger. Enjoy it while you can, all right?”

“Mmm,” Steve said. “Yeah, well. Yours, maybe. I just like—like seeing you all—taken apart, I guess. You look really, uh, uh. Wanton, and beautiful, and just—”

“Yours?” Tony suggested.

“Mmm, well, that too,” Steve said, sounding rather adorably embarrassed, Tony thought, considering what he’d just done to him. “It’s just—it’s really, uh, sexy, Tony. It’s really erotic.” His voice had gone lower and lower as he talked, deeper and darker, and Tony wasn’t surprised at all to feel his finger slide inside him again and pump once, twice, against the sore tissues, or to feel Steve’s tongue beside it, tasting him, suckling gently against his loose, leaking asshole.

“You’re so kinky, hot stuff,” he slurred into the towels, letting his eyes slip closed again.

“Mmm,” Steve hummed against Tony’s asshole, and wow, if that wasn’t a weird, intense sensation, vibrating all the way up into him like that. It made Tony’s eyes snap open again, and he moaned, just at the feeling. “You bring it out in me, I guess,” Steve said, almost shyly, as he pulled away, and Tony could feel his breath, hot and shivery, feathering over his open hole, against the rim and the skin around and even inside.

“Like you weren’t kinky before,” Tony muttered.

“Well, yeah, I was,” Steve said. “But you also bring it out in me.” His hands massaged gently at Tony’s ass, down his thighs. “Damn, you have a beautiful rear end.”

“You’re such an ass man,” Tony said, grinning against the towel.

“Guilty, I guess,” Steve said. The backs of his fingers were skimming up and down Tony’s ass cheek now, all worshipful and soft. “And you have a fantastic one, Stark. Just remember that.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tony said, laughing despite the way it made his stomach ache against the lip of the tub and his asshole twinge.

Steve’s fingers came up, played at the sore, used rim of Tony’s asshole a while longer, and he didn’t mind. He didn’t begrudge Steve his playtime, and this sure wasn’t going to happen very often, so he didn’t want to rush him. It even felt good, in a weird, sore, not ever going to come from this, damn my ass hurts, sort of way, and he could let himself relax into it, enjoy the slow, exploring teasing touches, even if every time he felt his ass leaking come around Steve’s slow, probing fingers he felt himself flush, like all the blood was rushing to his head.

He didn’t know how long it took, but his knees were starting to feel sore before Steve sighed and brought his hand away and murmured, “I’d better clean you out before you get too sore. This can’t be the most comfortable position.”

It wasn’t, but Tony was barely awake, lying there with his head pillowed on one arm, and he didn’t mind. His only complaint was that he was getting pretty cold. He could feel the water draining out of the bath.

Steve didn’t seem to expect a response, luckily, because Tony was too dazed and floating to think of one, even if his mouth, dry and slow now that he’d drooled all over the towels while Steve was pulling out the plug, had cooperated in voicing one. He just lay there and let himself drift as Steve busied himself with something behind him (which had to be the enema attachment for the tap, obviously, get it together, Stark), and then there was something inside him, and a warm, soft flow of water a moment later.

It was a slow, soft trickle, and Tony sighed and closed his eyes and relaxed into it, because the gentle warmth felt good, and it was nice to think about getting cleaned out inside, after everything. He’d always liked enemas, the warmth and pressure and fullness of them, and getting clean, even when there were cramps, so it wasn’t a hardship to lie there and let the water softly trickle through him.

Steve left it on for a while, probably wanting to make sure the water worked through Tony pretty thoroughly and left him feeling actually clean, and leaned up out of the water to run a soft, damp rag with a little soapy water over Tony’s ass and back and chest and shoulders, his arms, and neck, then another warm rag to rinse him down after, which was really incredibly sweet and above and beyond the call of duty, Tony thought, and twisted just enough to hook an arm around Steve’s neck and pull him down to plant a messy kiss on his lips before he could pull too far away.

Steve smiled down at him, laughing and sweet, and the warm, loving expression on his face made Tony feel warm all through and smile and laugh a little in response, somehow. Steve ran one hand along the back of Tony’s neck, dropped a kiss on his shoulder, and then smiled and said, “All right, let me check on you again,” and slid back down into the now mostly drained bath.

He let the warm water fill Tony up a little more, until Tony was floating a little on the feeling of it, warm and slow and not enough to be pressure, before he tugged the attachment out of Tony and pulled him back against his own chest enough that Tony could feel the liquid sliding out of him.

It was messy, he was pretty sure—at the very least, there was a whole ton of embarrassing noises, and he flushed and covered his face with one hand, trembling against Steve’s shoulder, but Steve didn’t seem to mind at all, his hand sliding back down over Tony’s ass cheek to press two fingers into him afterwards, probing gently. “There, that's a lot cleaner,” he said, and Tony flushed. “Here, let me give you a rinse.”

That led to more warm water against Tony’s ass, his thighs, his hole on the outside, and Steve held him open with one hand as he sponged his tender, throbbing flesh clean. He ran a thumb down over him then, hummed a little, touched him with another finger, then slid the slim metal nozzle back into him, holding Tony up with both arms and holding the nozzle inside him with one hand at the same time. A second later the warm water started again, and Tony gasped. He could feel some of it running out of him, over Steve’s fingers, like this, but he didn't seem to mind, just coaxed Tony to lean against him, against his shoulder and over his arm until he bent at the waist and Steve held him up. He felt dizzy and slow and very warm, and when Steve pulled the nozzle out of him again, he almost forgot to be embarrassed at the rush of water out of him.

When it was over, Steve rinsed him off again, sponged him clean, then pulled him into his lap, sore ass between his spread legs, and pushed his head onto his shoulder, as he slid back onto the bench.

“We’re not done?” Tony mumbled, trying to open his eyes.

“Not quite,” Steve said, “you’ve got more Gatorade to drink, fella,” and then he reached forward and did something with the attachments with the tap again, and then the shower spray started, as Steve scooted them over under it, and Tony sighed at the feeling of warm water against his shoulders, covering his chest and beating down his back.

Yeah, it had been a great idea to add that showerhead attachment for the bath, hadn’t it? He really was a genius.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this last chapter! It's extra long to make up for it. Plenty of aftercare in this part. This is the "sweet" aftercare chapter! There's also a good amount of food and eating, just so you know. And lots of massage. There's also some dehumanizing language, applied by Tony to himself, but not in a particularly negative way, I don't think.

The warm water cascading over him felt incredible, a soothing warm prickle all over his skin, tamping down his already damp hair and smoothing over him in warm torrents that had Tony closing his eyes and sighing as he let himself just enjoy it. Steve’s fingers slid up over his shoulders, rubbed, curled, smoothed along the back of his neck, stroked through his damp hair, then came up and rubbed gently against Tony’s jaw, making him aware of the slight ache of soreness, but in a pleasant way, as Steve massaged the sore places gently with his fingers. He let himself relax into Steve’s hold, aware his mind was drifting again, and Steve continued to stroke at the back of his neck.

“Does that feel good, Tony?” Steve murmured after a few moments, and Tony nodded, made a blurry noise of assent.

“Mmm,” he said after another second, when he could get his mind around getting his mouth to make words again. “Yeah, Steve, feels . . . feels good.”

“Good,” Steve breathed, hand rubbing gently at the back of Tony’s neck, and Tony let himself fuzz out again, drifting on the pleasant sensations of the warmth of the water, the steady certainty of Steve’s hold and his hand on the back of his neck. Steve felt warm and very sturdy underneath him, and it was easy, for a change, to let his mind go soft and drifting and not focus on anything else.

They stayed that way for a while, Tony feeling his head slide down and rest against Steve’s chest, just under his chin, as if from a long way away. It was a comfortable position, and he could hear Steve’s heart beating, so he was happy to stay like that, Steve’s fingers still gently stroking the skin at the nape of his neck. He wasn’t sure how long it was before he felt Steve move again, shifting under him, his hand falling away, and opened his eyes against the wet to see Steve scrubbing the soap over the back of his own neck.

After a moment, Steve seemed to realize that Tony was looking at him and gave him a sheepish smile. “Just let me clean up quick,” he said. “You can just, you know, relax.”

Tony blinked. “But I want—” he started. “But I want to—but what if I want—” He reached for the soap, clumsily, and his hand just slipped on Steve’s shoulder. “You cleaned me up,” he finally said. Sure, he was clumsy and out of it and half-asleep and stupid with sex and subspace, but it didn’t seem fair. He wanted a chance to do the same thing for Steve.

“But you’re pretty beat,” Steve said, reaching over and lacing his fingers with Tony’s, squeezing, before moving them off his shoulder and pressing them back against Tony’s chest. “You should just relax, rest. Take it easy.”

“I want to, Steve,” Tony said, with stubbornness he thought was quite an achievement considering how lax and exhausted, how warm and relaxed, he felt, and reached for the soap again.

“All right,” Steve said, smiling as he brought the soap around and sliding it into Tony’s hand. “If you want to, then go ahead.” He let both hands rest at Tony’s waist, rubbing gently along his back, then squeezed Tony in a brief hug against his back, still smiling. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“Okay?” Tony asked, double-checking. His head felt very warm and heavy. It was a strange feeling; he didn't feel like this very often, all spaced out and loose and lax, heavy and warm.

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Steve said, softly, still smiling at him. “Do whatever you want, Tony, okay?”

“Yeah, but do you like it,” Tony muttered, running the soap down over Steve’s chest and starting to suds it up against the broad, flushed expanse of Steve’s skin. It felt so good when Steve did this for Tony, soaping him up, rinsing him off, the feeling of caressing every inch of him, it _had_ felt so good. He just wanted to give Steve some part of the same feeling in return.

Steve shivered under his touch, shifted a bit, his skin feeling very warm under Tony’s hands. “Mmm, yeah, I mean,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I like it? Always like it when you touch me.”

“Always?” Tony asked, feeling a little like there was something wrong with that, even though he was too loose and relaxed and warm to really chase after it. “Can’t be always, big guy.”

“Can’t it?” Steve murmured, and his hands skimmed up along Tony’s arm, against his shoulder, rubbed gently at the side of his neck, smoothing along his pulse. “Are you sure?”

“Well,” Tony said, “yeah?”

“Well, you’re wrong,” Steve said, still smiling at him. “I do always like it when you touch me. Makes me feel like I’ve got an electrical charge right through me, every time.” He thumbed against Tony’s collarbone, just under the still swelling bruise he’d left on Tony’s skin.

“Not in a bad way, though,” Tony said, wanting to be sure.

“Nah, not in a bad way,” Steve said, smiling broad enough that his dimples were in his cheeks. “’Course not in a bad way, Tony, geez.” He took Tony’s chin in his hand, shook it gently, fingers gentle and soapy. “I’m in love with you, mister, you know that.” 

“Well,” Tony said, awkwardly, “yeah.” And somehow that made Steve’s eyes sparkle, his chest move under Tony’s fingers in a soft, breathless sort of laugh. “I, um, I love you, too,” he said, still feeling awkward. “You, uh, you knew that.”

“Yeah, I do, Tony,” Steve said, his voice incredibly fond, somehow. “You’re a sweetheart.” His fingers came down, traced little circles on Tony’s neck. “My sweetheart,” he said. “My fella, my best guy. Hell, do I ever love you.” He was flushing, now, his voice soft and hushed, and Tony’s face felt very hot. He leaned forward, let the top of his head land against Steve’s cheek, rest against his jaw, feeling a little overcome, a little dizzy, and tried to concentrate on soaping up Steve’s chest, tried to breathe evenly and not let on how absolutely breathless he felt.

It had been really good, really intense sex. Steve was still loopy with it. That was why he was saying things like that, right? It was just—Steve wasn’t that emotionally expressive, most of the time, kind of stoic, and quiet, unless he was pissed off. It had to be what they’d done together, the release of all that tension. Endorphins. Scientific explanation for Steve feeling all affectionate and fond and open and lightheaded, probably, and thus saying things like that.

Had he ever said something quite like that before? He’d said he loved Tony, of course, but most of the time it had been a little shy, bashful—almost forced, like he thought he had to get the words out, like it was his duty, or something, or soft, relaxed, sleepy or low and affectionate.

“How come you get so embarrassed by stuff like that, huh?” Steve murmured, thumbs sliding up along Tony’s neck and rubbing gently just under his ears, then back down. “You hardly ever blush, and then I say I love you and you’re hiding your face and not looking at me.”

“Well, it’s. It’s kind of a big deal, right?” Tony mumbled, sliding the soap down over Steve’s ribs, and then thought it probably would have been better to deny getting embarrassed, but there was nothing he could do about that now. “You wouldn’t say it if you didn’t, uh, if you didn’t . . . “

“If I didn’t mean it?” Steve asked. His hands skimmed down over Tony’s shoulders, then massaged them more firmly, thumbs digging in against the top of the muscle. “Yeah, that’s right, sweetheart. I wouldn’t.”

“Mmm,” Tony said, and bit his bottom lip. He hoped Steve knew how much he meant it, too. He didn’t say it very much, and he always felt like he was awkward when he did. Tony wasn’t anything like as honest and true as Steve was, so maybe—maybe Steve thought he was just saying it because Steve had, and didn’t know how much he meant it. He always worried about that, and then it came out sounding lame and awkward and insincere, when he’d—he’d loved Steve for so long, and so much, that he—he didn’t know how to say it, couldn’t put it into words. And he didn’t want to seem like—he expected anything from Steve because of it, or like Steve had to treat him a certain way, or—or anything like that. It was hard not to see it as burdening him with Tony’s own overwrought feelings after he’d spent so long worrying about telling Steve how he felt doing just that. “So . . . well.”

“Mmhm,” Steve said, fingertips still tracing down over Tony’s back, even as Tony teased the soap up over his chest, over one flushed little nipple, and felt it harden under his fingers just at the touch. Steve gasped, flushed down into his chest, head twitching forward and down until Tony could feel his hot breath on his face. “Ah,” he gasped. “That’s cheating. Distracting me.”

“Have to clean your nipples, too,” Tony said, and he was smiling now, tilted his head up and brushed their lips together to feel Steve’s warm, humid breath against his, the sweet, eager, soft part of his lips. He could still feel the slight puffiness from how he’d bitten and sucked at Steve’s nipples earlier. Tony had always loved playing with Steve’s nipples—unlike his own, they were sensitive without much work at all, and Steve always reacted in the most satisfying ways. He could already feel Steve’s cock hardening between his own legs at just those light touches.

“Oh, God,” Steve moaned as Tony pulled away from the soft, lingering kiss. “That—oh, that—that hurts.” His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes looked bright.

“Your dick?” Tony asked, and smiled at the thought. “Little overworked, huh?”

“It’s really sore,” Steve gasped, smiling back. Tony reached down, slid the hand not holding the soap under Steve’s half-hard dick, still sizable in his hand, wide and heavy, closed his hand around it and stroked so that the foreskin rode up over the head, smiled even more as Steve whimpered and moaned, “Oh, God,” again.

“Guess I’m not the only one who’s fucked out, huh,” he murmured, feeling a warm feeling of pride in himself start to well up inside him, that made the burn of his muscles and the sore twinges and ache of his hole, inside him, in his thighs, feel satisfying and heady. He rubbed his thumb over the head, along the foreskin then just under it, and Steve gasped like he’d been gut-punched.

“Ow,” Steve said, shuddering against Tony. “Holy—I—shit—wow, that’s, that’s tender, that really hurts. I—”

“I know you like it, soldier boy,” Tony said, in a voice that came out scratchy and low and teasing. “You like it when it hurts.”

Steve turned bright red, which was honestly the cutest thing. He always turned red whenever Tony mentioned what a masochist he was, which was funny, because Steve could usually talk about it okay, for himself. “Come on, Tony,” he said, his hips squirming under Tony’s, and hunched his shoulders, even as his cock hardened irresistibly in Tony’s hand, “okay, I—I mean, that’s true, but—err, uh, I—I . . . I don’t want to come again. I’m too sensitive, and it’ll—it’ll make a mess.”

“You made a mess of me, I seem to remember,” Tony said, but he did let go of Steve’s cock, skimmed his hand back up over Steve’s pelvis, his abs, all the same. If Steve didn’t want it, he wasn’t going to push him on it. Not really.

“Well, yeah,” Steve said, still flushing. “That’s—that’s true, t-too.”

“Hypocrite,” Tony breathed in his ear, and tugged on Steve’s nipple with his thumb and forefinger. It made Steve flush and start, sucking in a breath and jumping under Tony, his eyes wide and chest heaving, and, satisfied, he kissed the side of Steve’s neck, just beneath his ear, and went back to running the soap over Steve’s chest. Steve shivered under him as he ran the soap over his flushed, rosy nipples, perking up even as Tony touched them, then ran his palms, the heels of his hands, over them, tilting his chest up against his touch like he didn’t even realize he was doing it, but he smiled at Tony and linked his arms loosely around his waist again, just holding him as Tony teased him and soaped him up and made him shiver and gasp and, sometimes, laugh a little as he flushed and shuddered with each breath.

Tony ran his hands down Steve’s sides, with the soap, leaning forward to press kisses along his neck. He was a little soapy there and the taste of it was sharp on Tony’s tongue, but Tony didn’t mind it that much. He liked kissing him more. It was easy to fall into the warm, floating rhythm of soaping Steve up, running his hands over the warm, radiant heat of his skin, feeling the always surprising softness of his clear skin, buttery and smoother than Tony’s even with all Tony’s lotioning and moisturizing, even in the places he had soft, prickling hair that tickled against Tony’s hard palms. It made Tony feel warm and soft and good, doing this for Steve, cleaning him up, in a way he knew had to do with the urge he had to do everything he could for Steve when he was like this, down and floaty. Well, all the time, really. But he felt it even more like this, more eager and aching to do whatever he could to make Steve happy. As happy as Tony possibly could, whatever else was wrong with him as a partner.

And it felt like Steve was happy now, he was smiling, gazing up at Tony with a soft look on his face, and his eyes looked bright and clear, his cheeks still heavily flushed, and his chest and shoulders red with it. His hands were warm and steadying on Tony’s back, just above his hips, and Tony was gladder of that steadying hold than he’d have admitted, because his muscles still felt weak and wobbly as jelly, like putty that hadn’t hardened or a melted polymer, and his thighs ached and trembled, barely able to hold him up over Steve. He could feel the strain of straddling him in his hips, and eventually Steve leaned in, kissed the curve of Tony’s neck where it connected to his shoulder, and put his hands on Tony’s hips. “Here,” he said, “how about . . .” and his hold shifted Tony slightly, so that his knee slid between Steve’s legs to steady him. It eased the strain on his hips, but when Tony settled back down against Steve’s thigh, he was hyper-aware of the feeling of Steve’s leg under his aching asshole and against his cock, and hissed in a breath.

“All my weight will be on—uh—your, your leg,” he stammered out, a little incoherently, but Steve didn’t seem to mind, just smiled and stroked his hands up Tony’s back, then back down.

“I can take it,” he said. “You look pretty lightheaded, mister. Just want to make sure you’re steady.”

Tony was pretty lightheaded. That was true.

“Well, okay,” he said uncertainly. God, his ass. Little twinges and shivers went through him every time he moved and felt it slide against Steve’s warm skin, the slight soft prickle of his leg hair. He still felt so open. He leaned forward, skimmed the soap along Steve’s sides and up under his arms, which made Steve squirm and give a little breathy huff of a laugh, before Tony scrubbed it over his back, then moved back and started to rinse Steve off.

He knew he was being very serious about it, very focused, careful, and part of him wondered if maybe that was a little silly, but Steve didn’t seem to see anything wrong with how focused Tony was on rinsing him clean, just reached up with one hand and curled it around the back of Tony’s neck, warm and wet and wonderfully strong and steady.

Eventually Tony was satisfied and offered Steve the soap back. “There,” he said, and smiled, letting his hands rest on Steve’s neck. “Did that feel good, boss?”

“So good, Tony,” Steve breathed, and leaned in and brushed a soft, lingering kiss against his lips, wet with the water of the shower, before he pulled away. “Thank you,” he said, and rubbed his thumb gently along Tony’s jaw, beneath his ear. “Now, I said something about a shave, didn’t I?”

“Mmm, yeah, you did,” Tony said, or at least he thought Steve had. The intensity of Steve pulling that plug out of him had distracted him from a lot of stuff Steve had said right before that. He ran his hands up and down Steve’s neck, enjoying the smooth wet slide of it, the warmth and softness of his skin. “But you don’t have to. It’s okay. I’ll shave again in the morning anyway.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve said. “But you like it, and you’ll be awful sore tomorrow, Tony, I promise you that. Shh, sit back and let me take care of you.”

“Well,” Tony said, uncertainly, moving slightly over Steve’s legs. Steve had already taken care of him a lot, hadn’t he? “I—I guess so,” he muttered, finally.

“I know,” Steve said, and slid his thumb over Tony’s bottom lip, before he rested it against Tony’s lips and then leaned in and pressed a kiss over it. “Now shh for a little bit, okay?”

“You’re so bossy,” Tony muttered, but he smiled and let Steve adjust him under the spray, even though the water-warmed ceramic of the bench felt weird against his sore, throbbing, trembling ass, and he could feel how sore he was through his hips and thighs.

“You like it,” Steve said, smiling back. “Does that feel okay? Not too painful?”

“It’s okay,” Tony told him. And it was. As long as he didn’t think about it, he wasn’t feeling much pain, anyway.

“Good,” Steve breathed, and cupped Tony’s face gently in his hands, stroked his jaw and ran his hands gently down over his neck before he pulled away. “Now tilt your head back and close your eyes—yeah, that’s it.” Tony felt him slide another folded towel under his head, and sighed, appreciating the thought that went into stuff like that, the simple care and the warmth of the water around him. He let his mind drift, let himself just lie there and enjoy it, as he felt Steve lather up his neck, his chin, and turn down the spray and angle it over Tony’s torso and groin before he turned on the electric razor, one of Steve’s hands coming up and sliding under his head to hold him steady.

It felt incredibly good—not quite as good as Steve’s hands in his hair, massaging his scalp under the pretense of washing his hair, had felt earlier, but almost. The soft vibrations of the razor against his skin, the tingling awareness, the wet soft coolness of the shaving cream, and how incredibly gentle, how careful, he could _feel_ Steve was being, the steadying firmness of his hand against Tony’s head. The thing was, Tony never felt so—so carefully attended to, so taken care of. He didn’t take well to looking after, even when he desperately wanted it, felt it churn in the pit of his stomach, and he wasn’t sure how Steve was so good at pushing him down into this state where he’d just let it happen, but well, he was, even without the marathon sex that left Tony limp and drained and barely able to move. Feeling Steve take care of him, the tenderness and care in his big, strong hands, feeling like he _wanted_ to—it was like nothing else Tony had ever felt, and sometimes he felt pathetic because he felt so desperate for it, for that tenderness, that it left him trembling. Now he felt helpless with it, deep and worshipful and warm and grateful and just. It was wonderful. Strange, and pricklingly vulnerable, but wonderful.

Steve was careful, focused, just as focused and careful as Tony had been on him earlier; he could feel his little huffs of breath, quietly, against his skin, as he focused on the shape of Tony’s beard. When he was done and turned the razor off, rinsed Tony off gently, his skin felt prickling and newly sensitive, and it tingled as Steve rinsed him clean, patted on aftershave, then skimmed a finger along his jaw. Tony smiled without opening his eyes, and Steve leaned forward and kissed his nose, then pulled back.

Tony felt the spray of the water move again, but he was feeling too relaxed, too warm and sleepy, to open his eyes for another couple of moments. When he did, he saw Steve sudsing up his own hair to duck it under the spray. It only took a few seconds, before Steve was running his hands back through his hair and tossing his head to shake off water. He smiled at Tony when he saw his eyes were open.

“Pretty much done, I think,” he said, and moved the spray back over to run it, warm and softly massaging, over Tony’s tired body. It felt good, prickling over skin that had been chilling slowly, and Tony shivered under it. “I’m going to fill the bath back up a little,” Steve said, reaching forward and caressing Tony’s cheek gently, running the backs of his fingers, his thumb along his jaw, “and you just sit here and soak for a little bit, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony murmured, almost slurred, and let his eyes close again, mostly just understanding that Steve didn’t want him to move yet. He felt Steve reach forward, turn the towel under his head over and rearrange it, and then felt the spray stop and the tap water turn back on, before Steve shifted beside him and Tony knew somehow, without opening his eyes, that he’d gotten up out of the bath.

He didn’t think much for the next few moments. Or minutes, maybe. However long it was. His body still ached, but he fuzzed out all soft and warm and thick and sleepy, and the warm water covering his legs, then his groin, then his stomach, did a lot to chase the ache away. He barely noticed when Steve leaned back over him and turned the water off, once it was up to Tony’s shoulders, just smiled sleepily at the feeling of Steve’s caress to his cheek again, the way he ran a hand through his hair. Tony thought he might have slept, actually, secure in the knowledge that Steve wouldn’t let him slip under the water and drown, because he was aware of something that felt like waking up when he heard Steve’s voice, soft, beside his ear, say, “Okay, let’s get you up and out of here, okay?”

He still wasn’t particularly awake, and his eyes were fuzzy and blurred with sleepiness, so he didn’t do much other than follow Steve’s lead as the other man practically lifted him out of the bath and onto a towel, toweling him dry with other towels (the huge fluffy, soft, airy ones Tony was so careful to make sure everyone who lived in the mansion got, and how many towels had Steve even used so far tonight?), before he draped one around him and rubbed another softly but with determination through Tony’s hair. Tony heard himself laughing at how strange and ticklish it felt to be dried off like that, and when he actually got his eyes open a little more, Steve was smiling at him, leaned in and brushed a soft little kiss against his mouth. Tony only vaguely noticed, as if from a long way away, that Steve was dressed now, too, in blue lounge pants and a soft gray sweatshirt.

“Get on up,” Steve said, and slid a hand under Tony’s ass, gentle against the curve of it and not really pressing on anything that hurt, as he lifted him to his feet. Tony let Steve lead him to the toilet, feeling his legs trembling under him as he stood, and he didn’t fight it when Steve didn’t let go, just arranged Tony so he leaned against him and put one arm around Tony’s waist. He didn’t trust his own legs to hold him, and there wasn’t anything more embarrassing than tripping and falling into the toilet or something like that. Tony lifted his own dick to aim, but after a moment Steve curled his hand gently around Tony’s wrist, holding him steady there, too, and Tony didn’t bother to feel embarrassed. Better to have a clean bathroom than to insist he could do all this alone when he was so out of it. He might have fought it at one point in their relationship, but right now, he couldn’t really bother to care.

Steve flushed for him, too, and practically carried him over to the sink to wash their hands, both his and Tony’s, before he got Tony into a soft pair of boxer shorts, fluffy, fleecy lounge pants that Tony didn’t actually remember buying and was pretty sure were Steve’s, except that they were in Iron Man colors, which Tony thought was kind of surprising, and pulled an old, soft, fuzzy blue sweatshirt down over Tony’s head. He made sure Tony drank the rest of the bottle of Gatorade before he even left the bathroom.

“I’m gonna need to pee again,” Tony muttered, swallowing the last of the sweet liquid and licking it off his bottom lip.

“Not really a problem,” Steve said. “You need to not get dehydrated. You know how much you sweated out over the last couple of hours?”

Tony shrugged. “Probably more than I really should,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “exactly.” He set the empty bottle aside, then brought his hand back up, stroked his knuckles lightly along Tony’s jaw. “I should have made sure you had water, during,” he said, sounding regretful. “I didn’t think, but—I should have.”

Tony shook his head. “Wanted you to relax,” he muttered. Worrying about hydration and relaxing didn’t really go hand in hand, and he’d wanted Steve to—to lose control, to bury himself in him until the tight coiled springs of tension inside him had worked themselves out, weren’t driving him anymore, riding him like some kind of weight on his shoulders. And it had worked. 

“Still,” Steve murmured. “I was the top, it’s my responsibility.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m fine,” he told Steve. “You don’t always have to take care of me. I wanted to do this for—well, for you.”

Steve smiled, but he still looked a little regretful. “Well, as long as you’re all right,” he said, and tucked an errant, curling lock of Tony’s tousled mess of damp hair back behind his ear, before his hands came down, slid down over Tony’s chest to settle on his hips. “How do you feel about me carrying you now?” Steve added. His hands felt very warm on Tony’s hips, even through the soft clothes, and his thumbs came up, skimmed under the sweatshirt and slid over Tony’s bare skin, along his hips, against his stomach, and made him shiver. “Still in the mood to let me?”

“Do whatever you want,” Tony sighed, feeling soft and blurry and not really in the mood to protest anything or do anything other than go with whatever Steve wanted, and Steve smiled, he could feel it against his lips when Steve leaned forward and kissed him, his hands coming up to massage gently against the small of Tony’s back, which made him groan at the soreness knotted up in the muscles there, and at how good it felt to feel Steve’s fingers against it.

“You’re still real sweet and easy, aren’t you?” Steve murmured against his jaw. “Well, all right, I’ve gotcha.” His hand curled around Tony’s hip, sending a delicious prickle of possession all through Tony’s body, at how casually huge and decisive it felt curved against him, right before Steve shifted him, swung him easily up into his arms. Steve always lifted Tony so easily it made him feel small, even though he knew he wasn’t. The pressure of being lifted sent pain, soreness, in waves through Tony’s body as it remembered what he’d been doing to it, but so did walking, and Tony was grateful to let his head rest against Steve’s shoulder and not have to worry about how to move his feet, because it had been a constant strain over the last few minutes as Steve moved him around the bathroom and got him finally fully cleaned up, just keeping himself upright and moving forward.

When he came back to himself again, rather than the sleepy daze where his whole world was filled up with Steve’s warmth and Steve’s smell and Steve’s heartbeat and the strange rocking feeling of being carried, Steve was settling him on the sofa, between Steve’s own legs so he was mostly sitting up where they sat sort of sideways, diagonally, nestled into the corner against the arm, leaning against Steve, and covering him with a blanket. His ass wasn’t twinging too much in this position, so that was nice, and Tony let himself relax into Steve’s warm, broad sturdiness and sigh with pleasure. Steve’s hands came up, stroked up and down Tony’s thighs under the blanket, and that felt nice, too. “Here,” Steve said, and he was holding a glass of water to Tony’s lips now. “Couple swallows.”

Tony obeyed, too relaxed and floaty not to, and he was rewarded by a piece of chocolate held to his lips. He opened his mouth, leaned forward to take it from Steve’s fingers, but Steve just placed it on his tongue, between his lips, and kissed the side of his jaw.

Tony thought he might have blushed a little, but he closed his mouth around the piece and sucked on it, savoring the rich, decadent depth of the flavor of the cacao. It had to be some of his own chocolate, the stuff he saved to spoil himself on rare occasions, because he was the only person in the mansion who liked it that dark. Steve stroked his thigh again, along his hip, hmmed a little, and Tony closed his eyes, opened his mouth again when Steve tapped on his bottom lip.

This time it was a raspberry, which Tony ate with pleasure, since it tasted great against the chocolate still lingering on his tongue. He opened his eyes a moment later to see Steve offering him a cracker with a piece of what looked like blue cheese and chocolate on it, drizzled with honey.

“Five star service,” Tony mumbled. He opened his mouth for the bite of food and felt Steve chuckle behind him as he closed his lips around it, kiss the hinge of his jaw.

“I don’t know, I didn’t exactly put all this together,” he said, still rubbing Tony’s hip through the fuzzy cloth with all that warm, gentle strength. “But sure, I’ll take the credit.”

“You’re the one hand-feeding me,” Tony said, and then bit the inside of his lip, because God. That was embarrassing, wasn’t it? “Pulling out all the stops, aren’t you?”

“I guess that’s true,” Steve murmured, and kissed the side of his head, then lower down, under his ear, “but it’s not like it’s some kind of hardship to feed your sweetheart.”

“Maybe not for you,” Tony muttered, but he didn’t pull away. Steve’s arms still slid around him a little more firmly, pulling him close between his legs. 

“Well, it isn’t for me,” he said. “You like the cheese?”

“Mmm,” Tony agreed. “Delicious, babe. Like I said,” he leaned over, let his nose press against Steve’s cheek, left a kiss against his jaw, “five star service. No question.”

“Aw, well, thanks,” Steve said, turning a little pink. His hand came up and ran through Tony’s hair before it settled around his waist again.

They always had a nice variety of cheeses around, because cheese was so good to snack on and because just about every single Avenger preferred a different type. Tony liked blue cheese, and this was a new one he’d just bought, one that was wrapped in grape leaves soaked in pear brandy while it aged so the flavor turned a lot sweeter, fruity and woodsy and thank God nothing like brandy or alcohol of any kind so he didn’t feel guilty indulging in it. Steve liked Brillat Savarin and Brie, triple and double crème cheeses that Tony knew for a fact he’d never tasted even once before coming to live in the mansion and took a certain amount of pride in having given him a taste for, so he wasn’t surprised when the next cracker had the luxurious whipped feeling and buttery mild flavor of the triple crème cheese to the cheese loaded thickly on top of it. It tasted really good drizzled with honey, and Tony sighed in pleasure as he savored the flavor and the next couple of raspberries Steve fed him.

“You’re really going to sit here and feed me?” he managed after a few moments, and Steve just shrugged and popped a raspberry into his own mouth.

“Well, and myself,” he said. “Let me spoil you some, Tony. I like feeding you.”

“You like me lying here, all pliant and lax and dependent,” Tony muttered, feeling his cheeks heat, not sure if he was trying to make it sound sexy or disbelieving. “Just waiting on you to feed me by hand, piece by piece.”

“Well,” Steve said. “Yeah, pretty much. It’s sexy.” He ran his finger along Tony’s lips. “You’re so soft and sweet like this, all relaxed, and you try so hard to be delicate and neat every time you take something off my fingers, and you’re lying here, all trusting and sleepy and out of your mind with all that sex, and, well, I like it, and I like knowing there’s food going into you, and you’re eating, and you need some food in you, anyway, after that. So. Yeah.”

“Okay,” Tony said, “um, uh, so do you,” feeling a little overwhelmed at that, a little flushed and self-conscious, but not enough to refuse after Steve had said all that, and let Steve feed him.

Steve fed him soft prosciutto and sliced salami, smoked salmon, slices of grapefruit and nectarines and tangerines, gherkins and cornichons, pickled onions, raspberries and strawberries and more and more chocolate, kalamata olives, the candied walnuts that Tony liked to snack on, figs and fig jam (fig jam had always been Tony’s favorite), almonds, pieces of melon, apricot jam and plum jam, strawberry and raspberry jam, two different kinds of marmalade, cream cheese, herbed Italian toasted bread, aged Gouda so caramelized it was almost like eating candy, with a sweet, salty butterscotch flavor that exploded on his tongue, a soft goat cheese blended with fennel pollen and lavender that Tony knew he must have gotten from downstairs, a sliced apple and a sharp white cheddar, lots of honey. “You’re feeding me an awful lot of sugar,” Tony murmured after a while, licking honey off his lips as Steve held the water glass to his lips again.

“Because you’re sweet as sugar,” Steve murmured in his ear, curling his arm around Tony’s front, and Tony could hear that he was smiling.

“You’re so corny,” Tony said, smiling, but his cheeks had heated, and he felt warm all over. It was stupid, but it had been really sweet.

“It’s true,” Steve told him, and held another piece of prosciutto to his lips. “But if you want more protein, here you go.”

“Thanks, honey,” Tony said, and ate the piece of meat off Steve’s fingers as delicately as he could. “When did you get this stuff?” he asked after eating another piece of fig off Steve’s fingers.

“Asked Jarvis to bring it up while you were sleeping in the bath,” Steve said. “I needed to tell him we were turning in and didn’t want to be disturbed barring a major emergency, anyway.”

“He probably realized we’d been having sex,” Tony mumbled. “Or thought we were about to.” It was weird to think about the man who’d practically raised him and who’d become great friends with Steve knowing they’d locked themselves in Tony’s suite to screw, basically, but it was hard to feel too weird about it with Steve gently rubbing his thigh and warm breath on the side of his face. The idea of Jarvis knowing he was having sex still made him feel a little self-conscious, always had, ever since he was a teenager, except when he’d been drinking and could ignore it, could ignore most things, though he’d tried to play it off, not really let on.

“Let him,” Steve said after eating his own piece of prosciutto, and laughed. “He was all in favor of it. Said we both needed the rest, and I’d better get at least half this plate of food inside you.” 

“He doesn’t like it when I don’t eat enough,” Tony said apologetically. “I think he sees it as kind of an insult to his cooking skills.” And he knew Jarvis had been fretting over him eating lately; he’d seen him giving him the steely side-eye all week. Of course, Jarvis’s idea of eating enough was ridiculous. Tony would put on fifteen kilos if he ate like that as regularly as Jarvis wanted him to. He wasn’t like Steve, who could eat two heaping piles of pancakes slathered in syrup and butter for breakfast every day with an entire stack of bacon on the side and never show a single millimeter of it on his hips or his ass. Tony had to actually watch his weight, which was a concept Steve wasn’t really on a first name basis with, considering he had to eat practically enough to feed an army to keep his metabolism happy and always seemed to be playing catch-up, and if you asked Tony, Jarvis had taken cooking for Steve to heart a little bit _too_ much.

“Well, yeah,” Steve said, his voice teasing, “I was going to eat it all myself, but since he told me to feed you . . . .” He held up a finger smeared with honey to Tony’s mouth, tucked it between his lips and let him suck on it, and Tony felt himself turn hot in the face because it was so simply, easily suggestive, sucking the sweetness off Steve’s finger, and yet he really—enjoyed it, even felt heat stir in his tired, soft cock as he closed his lips and sucked at it, let his eyes close, too. “That’s it,” Steve murmured, thumb stroking Tony’s cheek, “good boy,” and Tony felt himself go very hot and red, but he didn’t stop until there were no remnants of honey clinging to Steve’s finger at all, swallowing and swallowing, and Steve tugged the finger out of his mouth and tapped his bottom lip with it. “You’re beautiful,” Steve murmured in his ear, and Tony’s face burned. “Such a sweetheart. And you’ve got the sweetest, softest mouth.” Tony parted his lips, flushed and overcome, head spinning a little, at the compliment, and let Steve slip his finger back inside, slide gently over his tongue, then curled his tongue against the pad of that finger and made Steve laugh and praise him, sucking softly before he let Steve pull it out and trace his lips with it again.

Steve fed him more honey like that, making him flush hot every time he sucked it off Steve’s finger, before he held the water to Tony’s lips again and went back to cheese and fruit and chocolate and meat and the rest of it. Tony would have thought the eating might help wake him up, but instead he slipped into a kind of sleepy haze, eating what Steve offered him and sipping water at his urging, letting Steve stroke his thighs and hip and side and belly and press kisses along the back of his neck and responding to whatever Steve said without much thought, just aware that Steve was talking to him and it was sweet and laughing and it felt good to lie here curled against him and respond and smile, too. All of the food tasted amazing, and he realized he’d been hungrier than he’d thought as Steve popped another delicious piece of aged Gouda into his mouth and Tony chewed it eagerly, savoring the butterscotch-y taste, Steve’s hand curling gently against his jaw, along his neck, while the other fell to still pet gently at his hip.

It felt strange, though, because Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever done anything this . . . indulgent with any of his other partners after sex. Like sure, he’d had caviar and champagne wearing robes and nothing else after a bath with a lady friend more than once, back in the old days, ordered some post-coital room service a hundred times if he’d done it once, and sometimes blatantly the expensive stuff to impress a partner, that kind of thing. But nothing like this, not really, lying on the sofa in Steve’s arms letting him feed him morsels off his fingers after giving him a bath, and Tony guessed that maybe it felt so different because, maybe, most of those times he’d been the one providing for his partner, showing off a little, using his wealth to show them the best time he could, because he could. And while it was still his money going to the food, he hadn’t been the one to arrange it, to arrange any of this, or really much of anything since he’d arranged getting Steve to have sex with him and ream his ass tonight in the first place, which had been handled pretty well, if he did say so himself. Maybe some of his earlier partners would have taken care of Tony like this—hell, Jim had been eager to—but, Tony realized with a vague feeling of surprise, he’d never let them have the chance.

He guessed he’d been afraid to, because, well. What if they didn’t want to? That would have hurt, wouldn’t it? But if he impressed them, provided for them—gave them whatever they could possibly want—

Well, that wasn’t really a productive line of thinking. It was just interesting, somehow. And kind of . . . of strange. How willing he was to let Steve do this, now. Take over, provide for him, feed him, even. He sucked sweetness off Steve’s fingers and laughed as Steve squirmed as if it tickled, then leaned forward and pressed kisses to each of them, soft and lingering. Steve ran his fingers over Tony’s lips, gently, in return, kissing just under his ear, before he moved his hand back down to the coffee table to pick up more food.

“You really want me to eat all of this?” Tony asked, his mouth thick and heavy, blurry on the words as he tried to speak.

“I’m hungry,” Steve said. “I’ll eat at least half of it, Tony, don’t worry.”

“I’ll put on five pounds,” Tony mumbled, “just from half.”

“Yeah, right,” Steve said, his fingers curling back into Tony’s hair again. “Are you kidding me? I think we covered burning those calories tonight already. More than enough.” He nuzzled in against Tony’s ear, left kisses along his jaw, up and down his neck, making him shiver. “Besides, if you don’t eat,” he murmured, “you’ll have a bad sugar crash, and I’m not about to let that happen.”

“I’m eating,” Tony said. He licked more honey off his bottom lip. “Aren’t I eating?” He even opened his mouth and let Steve nudge another cracker with cheese and fig jam on it between his lips.

“Yeah, you’re eating,” Steve said, and shifted his position a little, sliding his arm more firmly around Tony’s waist as he twisted his torso to the side of him, just a little, and kept kissing Tony’s neck. “Thank you,” he added, with wet, soft kisses down Tony’s throat (which still was just a little bit sensitive from the shave, and made Tony shiver), before he reached back for more food. “And you won’t put on five pounds,” he added against Tony’s neck.

“If I put on five pounds, you owe me five bucks,” Tony muttered.

“How about a blowjob instead?” Steve murmured against his ear, and Tony felt himself go kind of warm. “It’s not like you need five bucks.”

“Um,” he said, “yeah, I guess that would be an, uh, an acceptable forfeit, too.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you gain five pounds,” Steve said, still soft and against his ear, tracing a finger down his side to slide his hand up under Tony’s sweatshirt and trace it around his navel.

“It’d go straight to my ass,” Tony sighed.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Steve said, and Tony could feel his smile against his skin.

“My ass is already—” Tony started, but Steve laid a finger against his lips.

“You shush,” he said. “I love your rear. It’s all full and sweet and rounded, and it’s plenty tight enough, Tony, all high and firm like it is. You’ve got one of the prettiest rears I’ve ever seen, and I wouldn’t mind seeing it fill out a little bit.” Tony wasn’t surprised at all when Steve’s hand slid down and cupped Tony’s ass gently through the soft pants, squeezing just a bit, but he elbowed Steve without force in the stomach anyway.

“Stop going on and on about my ass,” he said. It was stupid. He didn’t know why it made him so self-conscious.

“If I can’t tell you how much I like it, how am I going to get you to appreciate how good it looks all the time, and how nice it is?” Steve asked, in a reasonable tone that didn’t fool Tony at all.

“I get it,” he said, and poked Steve in the stomach. “You’re an ass man. You like butts. But you won’t like it as much if I get all puffy in the midsection from eating too much.”

“You worry about your weight too much,” Steve sighed, and kissed Tony’s temple, going back to stroking his fingers against Tony’s bare skin, up and down the little trail of hair there, just under his navel, not really in any sexual sort of way, just warm and really pretty affectionate.

“We’re not all super soldiers,” Tony muttered. “Some people have to keep track. You’d be the first person to get after me if I didn’t keep in training.”

“Maybe that’s true,” Steve said, “but you are keeping in training. Anyway, when you’re in weight training, you won’t put on enough muscle if you don’t eat, you know that, mister?”

Tony sighed, and let it go. “Well, I know you’ll never pass up a chance to feed me, anyway,” he said, and even let Steve lay another square of chocolate on his tongue.

The thing was, he knew that Steve—well, it wasn’t that he had a thing for fattening Tony up, not really. He’d kept an eye on Steve, over the years, and he knew that Steve, well, he was the product of a lot of food insecurity, that was how Tony would have put it. He’d grown up starving, probably clinically malnourished, if his Project Rebirth baselines were any indication, and constantly had to feed that overactive metabolism of his, even now, and food, to him, was the ultimate marker of well-being—that someone was eating enough, that the pantry was well-stocked, that people got three meals a day, that no one had to go hungry, even though he sometimes got shy about stuffing himself as much as he needed to, like it was greedy, or someone else might go hungry if he ate what he needed, as if Tony, or rather Jarvis via Tony’s money, didn’t make sure the mansion always had enough to food to feed Steve and everyone else on top of it. Tony knew how much Steve needed to eat—he’d run tests. They’d done experiments, not long after Steve arrived in this time, Steve agreeing to every one with a kind of sweet, trusting eagerness that had blown Tony’s mind, that Captain America would actually trust him, Tony Stark, enough to do what he said like that. Having enough to eat was inextricably linked to safety and goodness in Steve’s mind, and it was the main reason, aside from avoiding lightheadedness and him getting wobbly, that nearly every scene of more than a few minutes Tony did with Steve subbing and him topping, and especially the ones that had been intense for Steve, he made damn sure ended with Steve getting fed. He wasn’t all that surprised Steve was this set on returning the favor, not really. He laid one hand on Steve’s wrist and held it, gently, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s pulse and feeling the strong, steady beat there, as Steve gently brushed his fingers over Tony’s chin, bent his head to kiss him when he still tasted of chocolate, just a soft little brush of their lips, and then held another strawberry up to his mouth, tapping it against Tony’s bottom lip until he opened his mouth and sucked on it gently before he took a bite.

“I feed you,” Steve said, very softly, against his cheekbone, “because you don’t eat enough. And because I like seeing you eat, and knowing I could get that for you, and that you’re enjoying it. For all your money, you don’t enjoy your food near enough.”

“I have an addictive personality, Steve,” Tony said, looking away. It wasn’t that simple. Never as simple as just enjoying things, was it? He went on binges. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he could replace alcohol with food, and sure, it wouldn’t be the same, wouldn’t have the same effect—but it still wouldn’t be a good idea, would it? In his job, with the suit, he couldn’t afford to gain much weight, not at all.

Steve scoffed, traced Tony’s bottom lip with one finger. “You say that like it means you have to keep everything you enjoy to a bare minimum,” he said. “Well, I don’t agree, and I wish I got to see you eat chocolate more often. You make the sweetest face, all overcome and blissed out. It’s even prettier than when you come.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tony said, but he let Steve give him another piece of chocolate, and even managed not to school his face too much trying to keep whatever expression Steve was talking about off it, and instead just let himself react as he sucked on it, let himself enjoy the rich, decadent flavor as it swirled across his tongue and melted to fill every corner of his mouth before he swallowed. Tony had a weakness for chocolate; he knew it, and he tried not to indulge in it. The jokes about middle-aged women and breakups had gotten old before he was twenty. Besides, if he ate it too much, it made his skin break out. He’d always had oily skin.

But he did let Steve feed it to him more often than he probably should, these days. It was just so—novel, and different, and strange, and it felt so good, to imagine that Steve liked to take care of him like that, enjoyed giving Tony his favorite dessert enough to seek it out and feed it to him piece by piece, when they had the time, the fond, soft, beaming smile Steve always seemed to wear as he watched Tony indulge in a few pieces of chocolate or a brownie or a cup of hot chocolate or whatever. He wasn’t used to it yet. Most people seemed to think Tony was too indulgent already; they didn’t push him to indulge more. But then, Tony had been pushing Steve to enjoy indulging in his food more ever since they’d first met, so maybe Steve just figured turnabout was fair play. Steve had always seemed to like turning the tables on him.

“I think you’re thinking too much,” Steve said, and lifted his fingers to tweak Tony’s nose, laughing when Tony gave an offended squawk and slapped a hand against his arm. “Go back to relaxing.”

“I am relaxed,” Tony said, and it was true. His thoughts were idle, floating. Everything felt good, everything tasted good. Whatever pain his body was waiting to spring on him felt far enough away, lying here like this, that it wasn’t bothering him. He didn’t feel wrung out, or strung tight with tension. All the things that he’d been worrying about, the anxieties that had been riding him so hard, digging into his shoulders with their heavy weight, seemed far away and irrelevant to this, right here, lying in Steve’s arms and being fed piece by piece. Tony knew they’d come rushing back soon enough, probably tomorrow, even, but for now, nothing seemed too pressing except the smile on Steve’s face and the light, bright, playful sparkle in his eyes, because that meant this had been good for him, too, that _Tony_ had been good for him, too, and more than anything else, that was all he’d wanted.

“Well, then stay relaxed,” Steve said, petting one hand down Tony’s side, stroking gently over the soft fabric of the sweatshirt and the lounge pants. “I’m telling you to, Tony Stark. And you did say you’d do whatever I said.”

“Yessir,” Tony said, easily, lax, mind too soft and giving and easy to fight giving in to Steve’s orders, even if he’d had any intention of doing that. He still felt warm and soft and worshipful. Steve had wanted to be in charge, so Steve was in charge, the rest of the night, as far as Tony was concerned. They could do whatever he wanted to do, and if it was like this, it wasn’t exactly any hardship. It made Tony self-conscious sometimes, to be focused on, even after—well, after, after being put deep down inside his head, like that, but it was sweet of Steve to want to do it, and he appreciated it, even when it made his chest feel too full, too tight, like it was almost painful with how warm and aching and heavy and full it felt, thudding inside him like something squeezing up tight and warm and wonderful and he worried if he was being silly, and if he maybe shouldn’t let Steve do this for him. “Whenever, wherever. You’re still the boss.” He reached up, ran his palm along the side of Steve’s face, and was rewarded by Steve’s sweet, bright, easy smile, the way he tucked his face into Tony’s touch and pressed a kiss so simply, so easily, to the heel of his hand. “As long as you do whatever you want, too,” he told him. “As long as you’re having fun.”

“A lot of fun,” Steve said, still smiling. “Thank you, Tony, for this. Really. I haven’t felt so relaxed in . . .”

“Weeks,” Tony said, thinking of how tight and drained Steve had been looking, for so long. He raised both hands, skimmed his fingers gently along both sides of Steve’s jaw. “Good,” he breathed. “I’m glad. I’m glad you feel better. I’m glad I could do that for you.”

“Same goes for you,” Steve said, and reached up to catch one of Tony’s hands in his, still it and then start to press soft, sweet little kisses over the knuckles, looking up at Tony while he did it. It was a sweet, courtly gesture that never failed to make Tony’s heart stutter and hitch and his chest feel warm, fluster him a little, whenever Steve did it, and it didn’t fail now, either. “Like I said,” Steve murmured against the backs of his fingers, “I like taking care of you like this. Get a lot out of it. I promise. And besides.” His smile was so sunshiny warm as he slid his hand down along Tony’s wrist, stroked it over his biceps through the sweatshirt, then curled it around the back of Tony’s neck, “After all that, I wouldn’t be able to rest easy unless I knew I’d done right by you, after. I’ve never, ever had anyone share their body with me that—that completely, Tony. I have to at least make sure I’ve seen to you.” 

That completely. That made it sound so intimate, so . . . invasive. Tony felt very warm again. He had really given himself over to Steve, hadn’t he? “I, I just wanted to make you feel good,” he said, stroking his fingers down over Steve’s chest, both hands. “You seemed like you needed to really let go, in a way you’d been holding back. And since I—I wanted to be taken out of my head, it seemed like a good idea.”

“It was a wonderful idea,” Steve said, with utterly genuine warmth, and whatever anxiety and self-consciousness had been building up in Tony’s chest fled again entirely. He smiled up at him.

“As long as you’re happy,” he sighed, and meant it.

“So, so happy, Tony,” Steve said, still bright-eyed and with that warm, radiant, soft-edged smile on his face, and he reached down for more food, eating a few pieces of melon himself before feeding one to Tony. “Guess we can’t do this for stress all that often, but damned if it didn’t work like a charm.”

Tony laughed, feeling that warm wash of happiness well up inside him again, and let his head rest on Steve’s shoulder as Steve continued to feed him.

“You know,” he said, after a few more minutes, after Steve took away the water glass he’d had Tony sip from again. “I, um, I haven’t really done anything like this before, either.” Steve had said that no one had ever done like this for him, with him, quite a few times now, and Tony, well—well, he wanted Steve to know that he didn’t go around doing this all the time, either, and hadn’t, before him, not just because he didn't want Steve to think—to think that he was that reckless, that indiscriminate with his body that he’d leave himself that vulnerable with many people—but, well, pretty much just that. That he’d never left himself that open, that vulnerable, with anyone else. That he might have subbed, before Steve (but so had Steve), but that this was, well, it was different. For him. It had been special. And a little scary, at times, but good, so, so good.

“Yeah?” Steve said softly, a little huskily. “This part, where I feed you after, or the whole, well, you know, earlier.”

“Well,” Tony said, reflecting and still feeling a little flushed, a little self-conscious, “both. Honestly. I mean, it’s not like most other people could have fucked me that many times in a night—” he could see Steve’s blush. “But I just haven’t. Done anything like that. That’s what I mean.”

“You know,” Steve said, tracing his fingers slowly over Tony’s belly, making him shiver, “I was surprised you were willing to, uh, let me come so many times in your rear.”

“If you’d come that many times in my mouth, I wouldn’t even be able to talk right now,” Tony said. His jaw was still a little sore, when he let himself think about it.

Steve flushed even more deeply. “Yeah, I guess . . . sure,” he said. “But at the same time—it’s not like your rear is your favorite way to do the deed, is it? Besides, you’re always so tight.” He squeezed gently, just above Tony’s hips and above the sore, deep bruises there.

“Not right now,” Tony muttered, feeling himself flush self-consciously, and Steve chuckled a little, tracing Tony’s hips so gently the bruises barely hurt.

“Yeah, not right now,” Steve said. “But you’ve got to be so damn sore. No way am I doing it that way with you again for a while.”

“What if I wanted you to,” Tony said, and it came out a hoarse, husky whisper, and he flushed at that.

“Tony,” Steve said warningly.

“No, no, not—right now,” Tony said, quickly, reached up and rubbing the backs of his fingers against Steve’s shoulder, his neck. “I meant like—tomorrow, maybe. When I’m still a little—open, you know.”

Steve sucked in his breath. “You’re going to be so damn sore,” he said. “Tony—I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” Tony said, “I know, Steve. But what if I—if I want it to hurt?” He wanted to be used, again, after this, tomorrow, to feel his painfully overtaxed passage filled up again when he was still healing from this and his muscles let Steve in easily. He wanted to feel it hurt, ache and scrape along raw nerves as he was filled, and know that—that Steve was using him, that Steve had done this to him.

“And you call me a masochist,” Steve muttered. His hands came around, hugged Tony gently, and he buried his face in Tony’s neck. “You’re out of your mind, Stark. But yeah, okay. I’ll make love to you that way tomorrow. Once. And then you’re going to rest for a while, and give yourself time to heal up. Deal?”

“Deal,” Tony breathed, pleased by that, feeling a diffuse heat tingle through his body at the promise of it. He shifted over Steve a little, couldn’t help it, until Steve stroked his hands against Tony’s hips again, held him still.

“Whenever I think I’ve got a handle on what you want,” Steve said after a moment, hands stroking gently along Tony’s sides, but it sounded like he was smiling, so Tony smiled too and leaned his head against Steve’s neck again.

“Like I said,” he said, slow and blurry, “don’t put me in a box.”

“I hear you,” Steve said, still smiling against Tony’s skin. “You showed me.”

“Mmm,” Tony said. Steve had moved down to stroking his thighs, now, and it felt good. “’s just you, you know,” he said, after a while.

“Hmm?” Steve said. He was eating a cracker with cheese himself now, one hand still stroking Tony’s thigh, down to his knee.

“Y’know,” Tony said. It seemed like too much effort to enunciate properly. “It’s, um, s’you. I want to do these things because of you.”

“You saying I make you kinky?” Steve said, fingers tracing gently over Tony’s knee.

Tony felt himself flush, and laughed. “Nah,” he said. “No. I was, I was already kinky. You know that. Sorta. But—but.” He didn’t know how to put this into words. He’d done kinky stuff before, with Sunset, Ty, Indries. Jim. A few other people. A few people who still made him cringe, to think he’d done something so indiscreet with someone who might blab it to the tabloids drunk without even realizing and then everyone would be talking about how Tony Stark liked to get down on his knees and—and well, all that, what people pictured when they heard a man like him subbed (the cliché, the wealthy executive and the dominatrix and—all that stuff). A few people, when he looked back on it, it didn’t feel too weird. Jim had been good to him, but—wary, like he was afraid of stepping on a land mine if he pushed too hard, or put a foot wrong. Well, maybe Tony was kind of like a beat up piece of war torn land littered with mines. He felt like it, sometimes. But the others—there had been people he didn’t know all that well, people who had made him feel—self-conscious, that was it. He’d submitted willingly for Ty, but he’d always felt so self-conscious doing it for him, too, uncomfortable, and the things Ty had said just made it worse. For Sunset, and for Indries, he’d always tried so hard, to do it right, to—to be cool about it, somehow. Thinking about the things Indries had said to him, during, still made him want to—to—well, it didn’t make him want to run right out and do it again.

He’d subbed, back in those days, to try and, and fill the void, the strange ache inside him, the desire to, well, to be led, to be torn apart and made new, to be opened up, whatever subbing was, to make himself feel better, but it hadn’t made him feel better, most of the time, it had made him feel like a weakling, and a failure, and not like a—a real man. He’d topped, too, and done all kinds of stuff without doing either (in fact, most of the sex he’d had, his whole life, hadn’t been either, hadn’t really been kinky at all, and most of the sex he had with Steve was pretty vanilla, too, but that was typical, wasn’t it?) but that—it was sort of different. Topping. He’d liked topping, still did, loved it, honestly, but it always felt like it was more about his partner than himself. Subbing made it feel like it was all about him, in a way that Tony found hard to take. It was—it was so different.

Doing it—being submissive with Steve didn’t make him feel that way, didn’t make him feel like a weakling or a failure or any of it. And maybe if he’d done it in more of his committed relationships, he’d have gotten that earlier, but—but he’d been afraid, coward that he was. That people would—that someone he really wanted to please would think he wasn’t doing his part, that he just wanted to lie around and be spoiled, or something, that he wasn’t a good lover, or that he was twisted, strange, to want—all of that so much. Not masculine enough, a sissy, off, somehow. But Steve had subbed first, so Tony hadn’t felt like Steve would think he was—emasculated, for doing it. Okay, he’d worried about that, a little, or maybe kind of a lot, that Steve wouldn’t want him as a top if he knew Tony wanted to sub, too, that he wouldn’t be dominant enough in his eyes, after, but Steve had made it clear that he thought that that kind of thinking was the rankest bullshit, so after that Tony hadn’t worried about that stuff. Too much. By the time he’d figured most of that out, he’d been exclusive with Steve—something Tony still couldn’t believe was real, some days—and so, well, he’d figured a lot of this stuff out in bed with Steve. He’d been afraid of being hurt in bed, before, because it had never felt good, or sexy. It had felt, if he was honest, a lot like some of the stuff some bad guys wanted to do with him in the field, and like he did then, Tony had gritted his teeth and gotten through it when his partners wanted it, sometimes with an unwanted burn of arousal in his gut and sometimes without.

But when Steve and he did . . . stuff that hurt, it was totally different. There wasn’t that twisting feeling of wrongness that Tony had gotten some of those times he’d gotten off on bruises or being left sore before. Being with Steve had made it feel sexy, and—and good, and Tony had stopped denying the fluttering arousal that build up hot and deep in his belly when Steve’s fingers dug in hard enough to leave fingertip bruises on his shoulders or ass or all up and down his thighs a long time ago. “But I trust you,” he said, finally. “I, uh, I give you an inch, you’re not going to take a mile, sort of thing.”

“Two inches,” Steve said, teasingly gentle, stroking his hand up Tony’s thigh, “tops.”

“You wouldn’t even take that,” Tony breathed, and that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? “So it’s like . . . I don’t know, maybe I liked some of this pain stuff before, but I never knew how far I wanted to go, just how far I _didn’t_ want to go, you know?”

“It makes sense,” Steve after a while, then, a little more thickly, low, “Thank you. For trusting me.”

“I trusted you before we ended up doing the horizontal mambo, you moron,” Tony muttered. “I’d have to be stupid not to.”

“And you’re not stupid,” Steve said. “Thank you anyway, Tony. It’s an honor. Always has been, to be in your bed.”

It was so—overwhelming, when Steve said stuff like that. Like he was talking to the president or something, but he was just talking about doing the dirty with Tony. Tony flushed again, leaned back so he could lean in and press a kiss against Steve’s neck, against his pulse, then up against his working Adam’s apple. “I’m the one that’s true for, Rogers,” he murmured. “Thank you for taking care of—of me, and my stupid ass.”

“Now, Tony,” Steve said, and kissed his forehead. “I told you. Your ass isn’t stupid, it’s a work of art.”

“Goddamnit, Rogers, it’s a figure of speech,” Tony said, but he was laughing so hard his stomach hurt, and his ass, and his thighs, and all the muscles in between, and finally he had to put his head down against Steve’s shoulder and try to catch his breath his muscles throbbed so badly as he laughed. Steve was laughing too, his hands curling around Tony’s stomach, one hand pressing flat against his belly as if to keep his muscles from spasming too hard.

When Tony finally stopped laughing and was lying there, panting, against Steve, Steve brought his hand up and stroked it gently through Tony’s hair, down over the back of his neck, catching his breath himself. “I’ll always do my best to take care of you, Tony,” he murmured against the top of his head. “I promise you that.”

“You don’t have to,” Tony breathed against Steve’s neck. “But see? _That’s_ why I trust you.” How could he not? Steve dipped his head down, kissed Tony’s eyebrow, traced his fingers over Tony’s sternum. Tony took a deep breath, brushed his lips against Steve’s pulse point again, kissed up his neck to the soft place just beneath the hinge of his jaw. “And the same sentiment goes both ways, so you know.”

“I do know,” Steve murmured, and his breath feathered warm against Tony’s skin as he breathed out. His hand came up, stroked over Tony’s forehead, along his temple and down the side of his face, before kissed Tony’s temple, kissed his forehead again. “You’ve always taken such good care of me. Ever since we first met.”

“I don’t know about that,” Tony muttered. “But I do try.”

“Come on, Tony,” Steve said softly. “I’d have been so lost without you there. You—centered me, you looked out for me, you challenged me, from the moment we met.”

“You’d have been fine,” Tony murmured. “But I did what I could.” He twisted his head up, kissed Steve’s jaw, sighed softly against his skin. Steve would have been, too. But Tony had always done everything he could think of to try to welcome him in this time, make him at home, support him, make sure he felt stable and secure. Even when they—disagreed, even when they’d fought. He hoped Steve knew that, knew that there’d never been any price tag on it, on any of it. He’d have done far more for Steve and counted himself lucky that he’d been able to, that any gift of his had been accepted.

“Well, what you could is something I appreciate so much I can’t even tell you,” Steve said, a firm tone in his voice.

“Shh,” Tony said. “My pleasure.” He smiled and kissed Steve’s jaw lightly. “Glad you wanted to knock boots, too.” The first time they’d had sex had been a long time ago. He’d still been lying to Steve about being Iron Man. Not the most responsible moment of his life, but at least Steve hadn’t held a grudge over it. But this—being together—this hadn’t happened for years after that. Tony had been happy just to be Steve Rogers’ favorite booty call in between relationships for a long time. He’d never exactly expected things turning into more, no matter what he’d wanted. But they had, and—and it was amazing.

Steve laughed. “You’re ridiculous,” he said. “I’m glad you’re glad.” He ruffled Tony’s hair gently, stroked it back and down, fed Tony a raspberry and ate one himself. “I was so shocked,” he said, “just . . . blown away, that someone like sophisticated Mr. Stark would want a—well, you know, someone like me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tony muttered. “Someone like you? Handsome? Kind? Honorable? Brave? Good? A war hero?”

Steve laughed, and his skin was flushing again; Tony could feel it against his own. “You know,” he said. “A poor Irish boy from the Lower East Side.”

“Yeah, I mean, I always judge people by their class first,” Tony said with a snort, squeezing Steve’s strong, sturdy wrist. “Poor artists make the best boy-toys.”

Steve laughed. “I’d’ve been pretty happy to be thought of as your kept man, you know that,” he said.

“Sure, you’ve mentioned it before, toy boy,” Tony teased, and kissed his jaw again. “Here I am, just keeping you for your big old cock.” He slung a leg across Steve, no matter how it made his hips ache and throb, and rubbed himself up and down against the weight of Steve’s cock, where he could feel it through his soft, clinging pants, a sizable presence even when it was soft. He could feel it harden under him, heard Steve groan. “Your nonexistent refractory period isn’t bad, either, stud,” he said, husky and scratchy against Steve’s chin.

“Don’t be difficult, Stark, or I _will_ give your pretty round rear the back of my hand,” Steve said breathlessly, catching Tony at his ass and pulling him back down to sprawl across him.

“That’ll sure discourage me,” Tony said, and Steve grinned, brought a hand up and rubbed his thumb along Tony’s bottom lip.

“You really are in a mood to be taken in hand and used hard, aren’t you?” he said. “Naughty little piece.” He took Tony’s hand in his, linked their fingers and squeezed gently.

“Your naughty little piece,” Tony said, satisfied, bringing Steve’s hand up to his lips and pressing soft kisses along the knuckles.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Steve said, soft and breathy, and ran his hand up and down Tony’s back. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Always was,” Tony said, and it came out hoarse and scratchy and low, almost croaking, and he hoped he hadn’t revealed too much. He pressed his mouth to the backs of Steve’s fingers. He’d never thought Steve would have wanted him, not seriously, or he’d have been Steve’s alone from that first time in bed together on. The thought made him feel guilty about the others he’d dated, on their behalf more than anything—and he’d felt a little guilty then, too—but hell, he’d thought he was Steve’s friend and his favorite non-serious sex partner, he hadn’t thought it was love, and Tony—he’d wanted love. He’d meant it, seriously, deeply, with every single serious partner he’d had in between, he really had. He just . . . hadn’t realized that he could have that with Steve.

“And that’s why I say I’m lucky,” Steve said softly, hand stroking gently along the small of Tony’s back. “Lucky to have you.” 

“Shh,” Tony said, and turned his face away, pressing his cheek to Steve’s knuckles. His throat felt thick, and he swallowed hard.

“Yeah, God forbid I tell you how much you mean to me,” Steve said, but it was gentle, and teasing, and he kissed the top of Tony’s ear, so Tony went back to kissing his knuckles again. “And anyway,” Steve said after a moment, “I seem to recall the size of my, err, my package being kind of a hurdle the first couple times. Or more than the first couple of times.”

“Yeah,” Tony admitted. “My eyes are bigger than my, uh, asshole. It sure does look good on you, though.”

“Well, thank you,” Steve said. When Tony looked up at him, his cheeks were pink, and he was laughing.

“And that wasn’t ever why I wanted you, no,” Tony said. He draped an arm around Steve’s neck and kissed him, and Steve sighed, sounding happy and soft and relaxed, slid an arm around Tony’s neck, and leaned up into the kiss, his hand spreading out wide against Tony’s back, holding him close.

The kiss went on for a long time, and both of Steve’s arms found their way around Tony, holding Tony steady over his lap as they kissed and shared breath and licked and sucked at each other’s lips and tongues intertwined and finally, when Tony was gasping and out of breath, Steve spent a long time sucking on his already swollen lower lip, pressed a kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth, swiped his tongue along inside Tony’s lips, against his tongue, and pulled away.

Tony moaned, dropped his head to Steve’s shoulder, feeling boneless. Steve sighed, sagged back against the back and arm of the couch, and closed his eyes, one arm flopping out wide, the other stroking up and down Tony’s back some more. It was a long time before they moved again, and Tony was half asleep, lulled by the beat of Steve’s heart under his ear against his chest, when he felt Steve hold his head up and bring the glass of water to his lips again. He sipped, obediently, then felt Steve center him against his chest, between his legs, again, and reach forward for more food. 

He fed Tony less this time, mostly concentrating on eating himself, Tony thought, but he still opened his mouth easily for each morsel of cheese or meat or piece of fruit Steve held to his lips. Eventually, though, he felt himself getting full, and let Steve put one last piece of chocolate on his tongue and savored it before he pushed his hand away.

“You’re done?” Steve asked, stroking the back of his neck, and Tony nodded. “You’re sure?” Steve said, and Tony nodded again. “Okay,” Steve said. “You ate plenty. Why don’t you just get some rest here, while I finish up?”

Tony nodded again, and did just that, letting his eyes slide closed and just enjoying Steve’s warmth, his presence, the warm waves of lassitude and relaxation that still seemed to be washing up over him, the endorphin laced pleasure in how sore he felt. Occasionally he felt a shiver shake through him and wasn’t entirely certain why, but every time Steve pulled the soft blanket around him a little more firmly over him and held him close with one arm around his back, and Tony felt himself melting into it, the warmth, the safety, the security, and the shivers would fade. He wasn’t sure how long Steve sat there and ate to finish the food off, but he was vaguely aware when Steve stopped shifting, leaning forward and back to get the food, and sat back, and his other arm came up around Tony, too. They sat like that for a long time, Tony thought in his slow, hazy headspace, before Steve kissed the top of his head gently and slid out from under him. Tony moaned a little in protest, missing him and not even self-conscious for it, but Steve covered him in another blanket, propped him up with pillows and shifted him so he was lying pillowed against the arm of the sofa, stroked his hand gently along Tony’s cheek, down to his jaw, brushed his bottom lip with his thumb, before he moved off. He could hear Steve moving around the suite, was vaguely aware of him cleaning the plates and food off the coffee table and taking it somewhere else, probably the small kitchenette, and, comforted by his presence, let himself drift off and float again. With Steve still there, he didn’t feel the need to push himself back up to alertness, so he just drifted and was happy for it, his body feeling loose and relaxed.

When he felt a hand come up to cup his jaw again, he instantly knew it was Steve—the smell of him, the way he touched him, so careful but firm, gentle but certain, the calluses on the tips of his fingers and the broad warmth of his palm, the feel of his skin. “Hey there, Tony,” Steve murmured, and Tony slurred out a greeting, turned his head to kiss the base of Steve’s palm. “You still feeling good?” Steve asked.

Tony nodded.

“Glad to hear that,” Steve said. “Here, come on up.” He was kneeling in front of him, Tony realized, between his legs, as Steve reached down, started to help lever Tony up. Tony opened his eyes, sleepy and gummy as they felt, and got a glimpse of Steve’s sweatshirt and blond hair before he straightened up to put his weight on his ass and sucked in his breath in pain. He groaned, and let his head fall forward to rest against Steve’s chest. A steady ache, impossible to ignore, throbbed through him from his hips, his thighs, his asshole.

“Oh yeah, I know,” Steve said, stroking the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“’S what I wanted,” Tony managed to slur out, patting Steve’s chest reassuringly. “Don’t be sorry. Jus’—” he caught his breath “—just a little sore, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Steve said with a slight laugh. “A ‘little.’ Here, brace yourself on my shoulders, that’s it.” He helped Tony to his feet, mostly lifted him, really, if Tony was honest. “How’s that feel?”

“Okay,” Tony said. It wasn’t as bad when he didn’t have any weight resting on his ass, even if standing and walking pulled on the sore muscles through his stomach and core and thighs, and against his hips, and his legs felt weak, aching and wobbly.

“Okay,” Steve said, and put both hands on Tony’s waist. “I want you to come over here, okay?”

Tony nodded, let himself be led, not really sure what Steve was up to, but willing to find out. Steve led him over to the open space in the room where they sometimes did stretches, and pushed him down to his knees. Tony groaned, tried to keep from making a pained face, but Steve just squeezed his hand, ran his hand up over Tony’s wrist and squeezed there gently, stroked along his forearm as he slid in behind Tony and kissed the back of his neck. “Sorry, this’ll probably hurt a little,” he said. “Or more than a little. But you don’t have to do a thing, all right? Just let me, and tell me if the pain gets sharp.”

Tony nodded. “Sharp,” he said. “Right. Got it.”

“That’s it,” Steve said, and Tony closed his eyes, let himself lean back into him, appreciating the warm solidity of his body, how safe and secure and _held_ it made him feel.

He wasn’t at all surprised when Steve pushed and pulled his body into a yoga stretch, manipulating his limbs, and held him there, making him hold it, even as Tony groaned as tired muscles woke into soreness and trembled under him. Tony wasn’t at all surprised Steve wanted him stretching out the ache, though, and slid one hand up behind Steve’s head, into the short hair at the base of his neck, to hold on. He thought Steve was putting him in each stretch for a little longer than thirty seconds, but his time sense was still pretty well gone and he was distracted by the solid warmth of Steve behind him, covering him so completely, so he wasn’t sure. When Steve pushed him down to rest against the ground on his ass and widened his legs, pushing them out straight, not quite the splits, but closer than Tony wanted with his thighs and groin muscles feeling like they did, and he moaned hopelessly with the heightened ache, Steve slid an arm around him and rubbed his belly comfortingly. “That’s it,” he said, keeping one hand on Tony’s knee. “Hold that for me, will you?”

Tony groaned, but did it obediently, and didn’t protest or struggle when Steve pushed him down against the floor, either, leaned over him and kissing the back of his neck, once, twice, three, four times before he let him up, then pulled his legs back into a straight line and pushed him over onto his stomach. “Arms under you,” Steve said, “push your shoulders up, that’s it,” and pushed down on the small of Tony’s back, pulling on his shoulder, until Tony felt his spine curve. It cracked, loudly, and he swore, startled, but Steve just laughed a little, gently, and stroked his thumb up and down along Tony’s spine. “That’s it,” he said, “just relax, let your back arch back there for me—that’s it. You know, you’re awfully flexible.”

Tony groaned, let his head hang down and tried not to swear at Steve, even if his hand did feel good pressing there at the small of his back like that. Eventually Steve did let him relax the stretch, pushed him over onto his back, and pushed one leg up to his stomach. “Shh,” he said, “I’ll hold this one,” and Tony obediently let his arms flop out wide against the carpet, his eyes slide shut, as he let Steve manipulate his legs, massaging slightly up and down his thighs as he did. It pulled on his still sore asshole, made him feel very open and loose and strange, and reminded him of how tight and painful his hips felt, but the stretch also felt achingly, painfully good. Steve’s hands squeezing his thighs and arms and back and calves intimately, sliding up and down over his muscles, felt better than good, and it wasn’t hard to lie back and enjoy that part of it, even when the rest of it hurt.

Tony still wasn’t sure how long Steve had kept him there stretching for, spreading out his legs and stretching his sore hips in a way that made him groan, turning Tony over again and stretching his legs out that way, too, just that he was surprised when Steve slid one arm around his shoulders and squeezed and said, “That’s that, you’re done, good job, Tony.”

“I don’t know how much it’s going to help,” Tony mumbled against Steve’s neck, and Steve laughed and shook his head.

“Yeah,” he said, “me neither, but it’s better than not trying it. Here we go, up you get.” Tony thought Steve was going to get him to stand again, but instead he slid his arm under Tony’s knees and carried him as far as the bedroom, which Tony saw as he twisted his head around.

“Oh,” Tony said, surprised, and then Steve was setting him down on the bed. He landed on towels, a couple layers deep, he thought, and there was some stuff on the nightstand, but Tony didn’t get much of a chance to look at it, because Steve was kneeling over him, warm hands on his shoulders, squeezing and massaging briefly before they slid under Tony’s sweatshirt, sliding warm over his skin, before he pulled it off over Tony’s head.

“I thought,” Steve said, rolling Tony over onto his stomach before he had much of a chance to react, “that I’d try and massage out some of those aches, huh? What do you say?”

“You really don’t have to give me a massage,” Tony said into the towels, after a long moment as his brain struggled to catch up to what was going on. It wasn’t exactly a feeling he was used to, but then again, he wasn’t usually this blissed out and floaty and exhausted. “You’ve already done more than enough—I mean, above and beyond the call of duty here, Steve—”

“I was asking,” Steve said, with good humor, hands resting at the tops of Tony’s shoulders, then stroking gently down, all warm, steady strength, in a way that made Tony groan with helpless pleasure, “if you _wanted_ a massage. Not if you thought you should ask for one.” He reached the base of Tony’s spine, slid his hands back up, down again. “I want to give you one.”

“You’re just saying that,” Tony muttered, but he was shivering under the touches as Steve ran his thumbs gently up and down against Tony’s spine, at the small of his back. “So that I’ll let you—ah—ahh.”

“I really am not,” Steve said. “How does that even make sense? I like touching you, in case you hadn’t caught on by now, Stark.” His hands slid warmly up over Tony’s back again. “Remember when you said you’d do what I say?” he added. “I’m asking to be nice. And in case you really don’t want one, in which case, you can tell me to stop and I will stop, Tony.”

Tony really _did_ want a massage, that was the thing; he’d have paid a professional over five hundred bucks for one on the spot. His back ached, his muscles ached and trembled, and he badly wanted one to help rub out those muscle aches before tomorrow, before they settled deep into his body and he just had to deal with it. It just didn’t seem fair to ask Steve to do it when he’d already done so much. He buried his face in his arms and tried to think of something to say. “Um,” he said. Steve wanted him to be honest, he reminded himself. It wasn’t like he was the one asking, and putting Steve out. He probably wouldn’t mind. He was offering, after all, and Steve wasn’t the type to offer things just to trap Tony into asking for the wrong thing. Never had been. Tony had said he’d do what Steve said, and if Steve was saying he would give him a massage . . . . Steve waited for him to finish thinking, thumbs circling gently at the small of his back, and it felt so good it was hard to think. “I, um, wouldn’t mind a massage,” Tony finally said, and flushed at how small and embarrassed his voice came out sounding, low and thick against the towels. “If you’re offering. I mean. If you wouldn’t, uh, mind.”

“Mind?” Steve asked. “I want to, Tony.” He leaned down, brushed a kiss against Tony’s shoulder, then stroked his hands down Tony’s back to tug on the waistband of Tony’s pants. Tony obediently pushed himself up on his elbows and knees, and Steve pulled both his pants and the boxer shorts down toward his knees, then quickly off entirely as Tony let himself lie back down. The soft terrycloth of the towels was a soft scratch against the still sensitive, overworked and raw skin of his cock and his groin, and tingled against his nipples, too, and Tony felt suddenly very aware of his nudity and shivered, shivered more as he felt Steve settle over him, felt the brush of the soft fabric of Steve’s pants against his hips, the outside of his thighs.

Steve’s hands came down, rubbed up and down his back, more caress than massage, carefully avoiding the swollen bruised bite on his back, until the warmth of them bled into his skin and Tony stopped feeling the urge to shiver, at least until Steve slid both thumbs firmly up along his spine and Tony shivered for an entirely different reason, as pleasure trembled through his sore muscles from the touch. Steve leaned over him, and Tony thought he heard the squirt of oil into his hands. A sweet, rich, herbal scent that smelled familiar, overlaid by the scent of lavender, filled the air. Another few seconds passed, and then Steve’s warm hands came back, soft and slippery with oil, and spread it down over Tony’s back.

“Oh,” Tony sighed, not even meaning to say it. It was just that it felt so good. “What—what’s that?”

“It’s the grapeseed oil you had in the bathroom cupboard,” Steve said. “I put a few drops of that essential oil blend you had made up for me in it. It was, uh—” he leaned forward, and Tony had the impression he was reading off of something, probably the bottle, as his hands just pushed deeper into Tony’s muscles, smoothing firmly over his skin, “vanilla, Roman chamomile, helichrysum, cypress, rosemary, clary sage, black pepper, and lavender.”

“It smells good,” Tony mumbled.

“Yeah, it does, doesn't it?” Steve said, and Tony thought he was smiling. “I don’t think I thanked you enough for it. I really appreciate it, and the massages you give me. It always helps, and the prescription stuff they’re always giving me for pain relief either doesn’t do a thing, or knocks me flat on my ass for a good hour and a half.”

Managing Steve’s pain when he was injured, which was constantly, since he was a reckless asshole in a fight, was an ongoing challenge, one Tony had been trying to figure out an effective answer to ever since they’d first met, since Steve’s serum-enhanced metabolism tended to burn through most medications way before Steve’s pain eased up. Tony didn’t put much stock in essential oils or really any kind of alternative medicine hoo-hah, and had a suspicion that any relief Steve got from a massage and the essential oil blend was from endorphins, the relaxation of sore muscles, the soothing smell, and the placebo effect, plus maybe a bonus from having Tony’s hands on him, whatever that was worth, but anything that helped at all was a plus as far as he was concerned. That explained why the lavender-herbal mixture was such a familiar scent; he gave Steve a massage with it about once a month, when Steve got too beat up to easily resist the idea of being spoiled like that. Tony usually sweetened the pot with a blowjob or two—a form of quick and dirty pain relief he and Steve had been using for about a decade now. “You’re welcome,” Tony murmured. “Whatever I can do.”

Steve’s oily fingers closed around Tony’s wrist, tugging first one arm down to his side, then the other, before his fingers worked against Tony’s spine, against his shoulder, until Tony gasped. Steve did the same thing on the other side, and then slid his hands up along Tony’s arms to his shoulders, smoothed his hands over Tony’s back, then over to massage his fingers up and down along the back of Tony’s neck. “You do more than enough,” he murmured. “Sorry if I, uh, get oil in your hair.” 

“’s not a problem,” Tony mumbled into the towels. He was going to take a shower the next morning anyway, probably, before he went in to work. For one thing, he had a feeling without the hot water loosening his sore muscles the next day he wouldn’t be able to walk as far as his office from the elevator, let alone get to the elevator in the first place. And it was hard to worry much about that when Steve’s hands were on his back, broad and warm, a constant caress of steady movements with firm, sliding pressure. It was clear that Steve was no expert, but he still seemed to have an almost instinctive ability to find each part of Tony’s back where he’d stiffened up or soreness had settled in, and honestly, Steve’s warm broad hands on his body felt better, made Tony feel warmer, more relaxed, than any expert’s ever had.

Steve was thorough, too—he worked on Tony’s back for a long time, starting at his shoulders and moving all the way down to the base of his spine, then back up again only to work his way back down, alternating with long, slow sweeps of his hands up and down Tony’s back, against the skin, all of it so warm and soothing that it made Tony feel like he was cocooned in a blanket of warmth even when the pressure hurt, made him groan under Steve’s touch, always avoiding that tender, swollen bruise against his spine that Steve had left with his mouth. Steve did his arms, too, working out the tight soreness in the muscles of Tony’s biceps and forearms that made him gasp, suck in his breath with the pain as it sharpened under the pressure of Steve’s fingers, until it eased off again. Steve circled Tony’s arms with his hands, slid them up and down, pulled his arms out a bit and massaged them with both hands, took each hand and massaged the palm and fingers, even, before he laid them back down again, and Tony felt himself shivering at the thoughtfulness of it, the attention to each little detail. Even Tony’s hands, as if they’d somehow been left sore by what they’d done. But it felt amazing, Tony couldn’t deny that, and he did use his hands so much, and then he remembered holding onto the headboard, the way his hands had dug in, and wondered if maybe Steve really had been thinking of everything.

He went back to Tony’s shoulders after that, working deeply into them, until Tony was groaning against the towels again, but despite the soreness and ache that flared under Steve’s fingers off and on, it felt so good as his muscles relaxed. Tony felt himself fuzz out a little, again, drifting on the feelings, the warm touch of Steve’s hands, the heat of his still clothed body braced over Tony’s nude one, the heady herbal scent of the oil in the room around them and the way it made Steve’s hands slip so easily over his skin as he worked it in. It got so Tony felt so loose and relaxed he barely remembered the sex they’d had, everything that had led up to this, just floating on how good it felt to be here, now, with Steve’s hands on him, rubbing out the aches and tension in his muscles, making him feel good, face-down in the bed so it was almost impossible to worry about anything. 

The best part was when Steve massaged the back of Tony’s neck, digging in with his strong thumbs, rubbing with the heel of his hand until Tony groaned, and eventually Steve moved it away to work down Tony’s spine bit by bit. Eventually, he got to the base, at the small of Tony’s back, and Tony felt himself flinch, gasping, at the soreness, the knotted, tight ache there, but Steve just murmured something to him and gentled his touch a bit, rocking his thumbs back and forth against the tight muscles before skimming them easily up along Tony’s spine with the oil, up and down and then in circles widening outward, soothing gently with each circle of his slippery hands before, finally, Tony felt himself beginning to relax. Steve leaned forward again, squirted more oil into his hands, and when they came back to Tony’s back, the oil was very slick and very warm, and Tony didn’t feel himself tense as much against the pressure as Steve pressed his hands down and in.

He kept at it for a long time, working at the tension there, adding more oil and rubbing it into Tony’s skin, working the heels of his hands up and down Tony’s spine, along his ribs and out to his back, before he circled his palms and brought them in again. “Knew you were going to be tense here,” Steve murmured. “You always carry so much of it right here.” His thumb and forefinger stroked delicately, slick with oil, along either side of Tony’s spine, low down, not far above the curve of his ass. “Hope this helps,” he added, the gentle touch turning a little more firm before his hands spread out into circles again.

“Mmm,” Tony managed, not feeling aware enough to manage a clearer affirmation, but yes, hell yes, it felt amazing; it was helping, for sure, he was sure of that, even if he couldn’t exactly think straight to figure out how much. He could feel the stiff muscles twinging, relaxing, easing into soft, easy acceptance, as Steve worked on the aches. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Steve murmured, his thumbs pressing deep again, so Tony gasped, couldn’t help it, as pain tightened up there in his lower back, throbbed through him in a twist of pain, then sighed, groaning, as the pain of the pressure eased off, turned into pleasure. Steve kept at it, focusing on the small of Tony’s back, for a long time, though his strokes eventually turned into long, slow slides of his hands up along Tony’s spine all the way to his shoulders, and he spent some time on the middle of Tony’s back, too, digging his hands in deep against the sore muscles and rubbing the aches out with a determined thoroughness that made Tony groan and shiver under him, before working his way back down. The warm, easy slide of his hands was slow and luxuriant, with a kind of lavish comfort that Tony wasn’t used to letting himself indulge in quite this much, intimate in the feel of Steve’s hard hands and shield calluses against his naked skin, even as slick and slippery as the oil made each touch. It somehow felt even more intimate than Steve’s dick deep inside him had, than even his fingers inside Tony’s body or between his legs or against his lips, because this—this wasn’t even about sex, was it, and Steve was still here, still touching him, rubbing, caressing his skin, working his strong, steady hands deep into his tired muscles.

“It feels really good,” Tony finally thought to say, his lips slow and dragging against the towels and the words coming out blurry and thick despite himself. The best part was just feeling Steve there, so close to him, his hands moving warmly up and down over his skin, the warmth of his body, the soft brushing of his pants against Tony’s legs whenever he shifted over him a little bit. He could smell the clean scent of Steve, soap and shampoo and a little clean sweat, the sunny warm smell of Steve’s own skin.

“Glad to hear it,” Steve said, and he leaned down, lips brushing the back of Tony’s head, along his ear, until Tony shivered and had to smile, turning his head just enough to glance back up at him, despite how much effort that suddenly seemed to take. Steve was smiling too, visible even to his blurred, tired vision, and kissed his cheek, hands squeezing gently on Tony’s shoulders before they went back to the massage, and Tony sighed and closed his eyes again, letting his head sink back down into the towels. Steve brushed the side of his cheek with slightly oily knuckles that Tony didn’t even mind because the touch felt so nice, so good, made him feel warm all the way through, from deep in his stomach radiating out all over his skin.

He couldn’t have said how long he just laid there, Steve gently massaging his back, his shoulders, down every inch of his arms, then down his spine again. It felt more than a little indulgent to him, almost ridiculous, but Steve wanted to do it, he reminded himself, and knowing that, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care how indulgent it was. It felt amazing, at the same time, and he felt his mind fuzzing out more and more into that sweet, syrupy thick state of relaxation he’d been in before, and didn’t bother to fight it.

It might have been a long time before he felt Steve scoot backward over his legs, he wasn’t actually sure. He just knew that after that he felt Steve’s hands slip down over his ass, slick with fresh oil, and shivered, gasping a little at the feeling, as the touch jarred places that were still sensitive, muscles around his hole and deep inside him.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Steve murmured from over him, and all Tony could do was shake his head as Steve’s hands smoothed slowly, luxuriantly, up over the curve of his ass and rubbed deep down into the muscles of his back again. He groaned, then, finally, managed to bite his lip and actually think about saying something.

“No,” he managed to slur out. “No, no, not—not at all.”

“Good,” Steve murmured, and his hands slid back down over Tony’s ass cheeks. There was nothing prurient about the touch, though, nothing lustful or sexual in the least. Actually, it felt amazing, therapeutic and soothing, as Steve’s fingers dug in, released tension in muscles Tony hadn’t even known were there to be sore. After a few moments, Steve put both hands on one of Tony’s legs, slid his fingers down Tony’s crease slightly to press in against one ass cheek, then down, lower, against his thigh, but even though it made Tony shiver with how intimate it felt, there was still nothing demanding in the touch, nothing sexual about it except in the reason why Steve was touching him so carefully, so intimately, now. He could feel the tight, sore muscle Steve was pressing against, the way he rolled the heel of his hand against it, dug in his thumb, and then, as Tony groaned, the tight soreness began to release, to relax under his hand.

“You’re so good at this,” he managed to mumble into the towels, turning his head just a bit, so his cheek pressed against them and his words wouldn’t be quite as muffled.

“I’m a complete amateur,” Steve said, and Tony could hear his smile in his voice, “but I’m glad you think I’m not bad. Glad it’s helping. I learned a lot from you, your doing it for me.”

Tony made a dismissive noise—Steve was _amazing_ at this, whatever he thought, and Tony was pretty sure he couldn’t have learned that from Tony’s attempts at massage, no matter how heartfelt they’d been or how much research Tony had done himself, beforehand, but he was feeling too good, and too floaty and easy, to really dispute it. Steve was still rubbing his hands up and down his ass, over the backs of his thighs, careful to avoid the worst of the bruises on Tony’s hips, and even as it tugged on the sensitive skin of his hole, it seemed to chase away the twinges of pain, the aches that had already taken up residence in his ass, his thigh muscles, and everything in between. The warm, slippery slide of Steve’s big hands, the radiant heat of them against Tony’s skin, the warm skid of them through the oil, all of it still felt amazing, blissful, even, and shockingly intimate, as each soft pull on Tony’s exhausted muscles reminded him of having Steve so deeply inside him.

Eventually, Steve moved down again, stroking his hands down over the backs of Tony’s legs, oil and all, then closing them tightly over each leg, dragging his hands firmly back up in a way that made Tony shiver as his fingers dug in deeply but not painfully against the muscles. While Tony was still shivering and groaning from that, Steve slid his hands up and down his thighs and started working his way back down from there, over the insides of Tony’s knees, hands slick and gentle, and lower, to work his hands against the surprisingly tense, tight muscles of Tony’s calves, startling Tony with how tense they felt as Steve first started rubbing his fingers in against them. “Oh,” he gasped, then groaned, surprised.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve murmured softly, bending Tony’s leg up just slightly so he could work his hands up and down his calf, oiled hands catching on the hair over his legs and then slipping free to slide easily along them in an unfamiliar sensation that made Tony shiver all over again. “That’s it,” he murmured, as Tony started to feel those tense muscles give and relax.

Sex like the kind they’d just had pretty much used every muscle of the body, Tony figured, and when he thought about it, he’d used his leg muscles more than he’d realized, not just his thighs. He sighed and tried to relax into Steve’s warm, steady hold, the strokes of his hands, despite the slight discomfort as the aches started to release. It did feel good, Steve searching out every part of him, every muscle, that held onto those aches, whether Tony was aware of it or not, finding the tension and rubbing it out.

Steve kept at his calves for a while, rubbing all the way up to his thighs and then back down, then his hands slid down further, rubbed at and massaged all the way around Tony’s ankles, then down over his feet, fingers pressing into the vulnerable soles until Tony was gasping again, shivering with the soft, easy pleasure the touches brought with them. Steve sat there and massaged his feet for what had to have been quite a while, leaving them slick and wet with oil, before he reached for a towel and wiped them off, then rubbed the towel all the way up over Tony’s legs, his ass, over his back, wiping off the oil he’d used. Tony closed his eyes and let him float on the feeling, the relaxation that still echoed through every millimeter of his body, how easy and good he felt. Steve covered him with the towel when he was finished, then said, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Tony nodded lazily, still relaxed and floating on the feelings the massage had brought him. He felt Steve slide off the bed, and didn’t mind it, just luxuriating in how incredibly relaxed he felt. Before long, he felt a gentle touch of a slightly damp hand to his neck, his shoulders, just above where the towel covered him, and was conscious of waking up, coming out of a doze.

“That’s it,” Steve murmured, his voice gentle and rather fond. “You still with me, Shellhead?”

Tony lifted his hand just a little to make an equivocal gesture, rocking his hand back and forth. Steve chuckled.

“Good enough for me,” he said, fingers rubbing gently along Tony’s shoulders and neck. “Still feeling good and relaxed?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tony breathed, letting his hand fall back down to the towels.

“That’s perfect, then,” Steve said, sounding pleased. “I have a few things here—some ointment for you inside, one of those pain-killing patches, and I don’t want you to argue about them, okay?” His hands slid down, gently stroked along Tony’s hips through the towel, then ducked under the towel to whisper gently along the skin, rough calluses soft over the bruises he’d left. “I won’t be able to enjoy what we did if you’re in too much pain, after, and that’s the truth,” he said.

“Playing dirty,” Tony mumbled, but he didn’t mind so much. He wasn’t looking forward to how much pain he was probably going to be in later, either, and if Steve wanted to medicate him, he wasn’t going to argue, for a change.

“Maybe a little,” Steve said, “but it’s true, Tony.”

“S’okay, sweetheart,” Tony mumbled. “Go ahead.”

“Well, that was easy,” Steve said, and Tony had a feeling he was smiling. “I have to admit I expected more of a fight.”

“Not in the mood to fight,” Tony sighed, and it was only the truth. “I’m all putty for you right now, so don’t take advantage, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve said, a smile still in his voice. “What if I take just a little advantage?” His fingers wandered downwards, slid over the curves of Tony’s ass cheeks. “Just to make sure you’re feeling okay, you understand.”

“Sure,” Tony slurred into the towels. “Do what you want, babe. Trust you.”

“It’s an honor,” Steve said, all sincerity, again, and Tony felt a warm self-consciousness sweep over him, hide his face against the towels in the embarrassed pleasure being on the receiving end of Steve’s warm, sweet, dizzying sincerity always gave him. Steve rubbed at Tony’s ass a little more, hands soft as they slid up and down over the rounded muscles, then he flipped the towel up so that Tony’s bare ass was revealed to the air and slid his hands down to Tony’s thighs, before he pushed one up and out, exposing the sore throb that was Tony’s aching hole.

“Oh,” Tony breathed out. “Ow.”

“I know,” Steve said, voice rueful and still fond. “Sorry about that.” His fingers, cool and slick with some kind of ointment, touched the hot, sensitive, puffy flesh, and Tony gasped, pressed his face tighter into the towels, let his hands come up and dig into them with a tight grip to help himself take a deep breath and blow it out against the sudden stinging throb. “Your poor hole is all swollen up. You feel hot and bruised.”

“Mmm,” Tony agreed, because it was true, he _did_ feel like that, exactly like that, down there, but also because Steve’s fingers felt oddly good, circling gently over the puffy rim, cool ointment slick and soft over the soreness even as he throbbed at each touch.

“I tried to be as careful and thorough opening you up as I could,” Steve said, still sounding rueful, “but you’re just never going to take me easily, are you?”

“Prob’ly not,” Tony admitted, a slurring drawl into the towels all that wanted to come out of his mouth. “S’okay though. I kinda like it?”

“Like it?” Steve sounded incredulous, though his fingers didn’t lose their gentleness as they circled over Tony’s sore, swollen entrance.

“Y’know,” Tony said, struggling to explain. “How it makes me—I feel, um, mastered and overwhelmed, and it’s so—so much sensation, all at once, prying me open wide and—and _forcing_ me to fit you, like you’re reshaping me for your, uh, your cock, y’know? And then I throb and ache afterwards and I can’t forget how you felt inside me, how you were inside me, and I feel good because I could take you and make you feel good and, uh, hold you inside me for a while I guess, and it’s . . . it’s really different, for, uh, for me, taking someone s’big as you, and I like that it’s a big change, always have. And it makes me feel, I dunno, sort of good, like, accomplished? That I can make myself do it at all . . . .” He bit his lip, not sure how to put the pride he felt at being able to make his tight body open and relax and accommodate Steve into words without it sounding stupid. “Plus,” he said, hurrying on rather than dwelling on that point, “I like how it makes me feel, uh, you know, kind of small. Smaller than you, anyway, and. You know, like I said. Before.”

“You wouldn’t rather I had a smaller cock that fit into you without it hurting you quite as much, or being so overwhelming?” Steve murmured, fingers still moving slow and soft on Tony’s rim, spreading around the ointment. Tony could already feel the ache slipping away, easing under a soft, numb easiness.

“Well, we could do it more often like that if you did,” Tony said, too sleepy and relaxed to be anything other than frank with him about this, “but I wouldn’t change the size of your cock if I could, no. Not really ever been a size queen, but it’s part of you, and I like you like that, an’ I like your big cock. Like I said, makes me feel good I can take it.”

“I always worry about hurting you,” Steve murmured, and then his finger parted Tony’s rim gently, pushing just into him and circling around. Tony was open and soft with overuse, but he’d swollen enough that there was a tight pressure around Steve’s finger that made him very aware of the feeling and made him suck in a breath of pain as the ache flared. “That I could go too deep and hurt you inside, or fuck you too rough so I tore something bad or made the muscles collapse so you needed surgery, or—I just. I really don’t want to hurt you, Tony, ever, not like that.” 

“You’re careful,” Tony mumbled. “And hey, if you hurt me, you hurt me. It prob’ly wouldn’t be the most embarrassing surgery I’ve ever had.” Well, maybe it would. But he wouldn’t be mad at Steve for it, that was the point.

Steve laughed a little at that. “Really, Tony?” he said, but his voice was sweet and fond, not judgmental at all, so Tony didn’t bother to tense up or feel judged. “But—I—I would have caused it, that’s the thing.”

“Take good care of me,” Tony assured him. “Don’t need to worry.”

“Sure I need to worry,” Steve said, and his other hand smoothed gently up over the small of Tony’s back. “I care about you. I don’t want to hurt you for a little fun. Not for real.”

“Well, you’re good at knowing what I can take,” Tony murmured into the bed. The ache was easing now, either because his body was accepting Steve’s penetration, easing back into it, or the salve was doing its work and numbing the soreness of the muscles and the raw, overworked flesh. It was hard to figure out how to say it in so many words when he was like this, but he’d never been with a partner who made him feel more secure that they knew his body backwards and forwards, better than he did, not like Steve. Sure, he’d trusted that people like Sunset and Indries and Ty knew his body and responses and what he wanted better than he did himself, let them tell what his kinks were and stuff like that, decide what he wanted, but it had felt scary, overwhelming and new and unfamiliar, all the time, like he was lost in space and couldn’t get back to anyplace that felt secure or safe. Steve wasn’t like that at all—he didn’t tell Tony what he wanted, not like they had, but instead he made Tony feel utterly secure in the knowledge that Steve knew exactly how much he could take, how far he could go before it was too much. It was a different kind of safety. Like Steve was looking out for him, all the time, sometimes even when Steve was on the bottom, sweet and soft.

“I do try,” Steve murmured, his finger slipping into Tony a little more. It stung, a tingling ache that made Tony gasp and shift his hips uncomfortable, but Steve circled it gently, slid it in and out of him in a slow, soft, easy slide, a gentle mimicking of the way he’d fucked Tony earlier, one that felt deliciously familiar, yet gentle, against his used, pounded tissues, and made him sigh, relax into it. He still had no control over the wrecked, battered, loose muscles of his ass, swollen and quivering against Steve’s gentle finger, but as his body relaxed he relaxed inside there, too, until Steve’s sore strokes felt good, just a little tender ache following each touch that slid along Tony where he was sore and puffy and open inside. Steve kept at it for a long time, lulling Tony into a low, soft daze, all pleasure and ache mixed together until he couldn’t have told which was which, his nerves so jumbled that the soft flare of the ache when Steve rubbed his finger against an especially sore place felt more like pleasure than not. Steve was very gentle, and Tony was grateful, sure it would have hurt for real if he’d been any more insistent or rough with his touch, periodically slipping his finger out of him to coat it in more cool ointment before he slid it back into Tony’s soft, clinging, swollen entrance.

The cool, soothing touch of the salve was welcome against Tony’s sore, hot, swollen insides, easing the ache and softening the sharpness of the soreness, the pain, cooling and comforting against the bruised heat of him inside. He even felt his cock thicken up a little bit against the bed, half-hardening, at the gentle pleasure Steve was coaxing out of him, even without any attention to his prostate. It just felt . . . nice, and his body was content to have Steve’s finger inside, making him feel so good. He often got half hard from fingering, but not more than that, so Tony didn’t expect anything further from it, just enjoyed the soft waves of pleasure and the feeling of his cock warm and thick and heavy pressed into the blankets and against his pelvis, hot tip just against his belly. Steve stroked his back gently as he spread the ointment around inside him, pressing his finger against his quivering inner walls, rubbing it in carefully, shifting his hand to work it deeper and deeper inside, coating it with more and more ointment that he pushed in ever deeper, until Tony felt slick and wet and hardly hurt at all by the time Steve pulled his finger out with a soft, wet noise.

“’m all slick and wet again,” Tony observed in a low mumble against the towels.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Steve said with a smile in his voice, sliding his finger gently over the soft wet entrance so that Tony felt the muscles quiver under it. “Nice and slick and easy, I hope. At least I hope it’s helping.” The ointment wasn’t as liquid or slick as say, the lube they’d used, and it didn’t seem likely to ooze out of him or drip down his thighs, thin and smooth along his inner walls, so Tony didn’t really mind the slick, soft wetness inside him, though it was strange to feel so aware of the way his tissues rubbed against each other inside, soft and smooth with the ointment.

“’s helping,” Tony sighed. “Feels good.” And it did. His inner passage, his sore rim, his aching muscles, none of it hurt as much now, and he couldn’t feel it as painfully in his body if he took a deep breath or jarred his core. It made him feel soft and relaxed and easy inside, his muscles all as soft as butter and incapable of tension. It made him feel soft and warm and worshipful again, all easy and open for Steve, wanting to give him whatever he wanted from Tony, whatever he wanted to do to him, with him, even for him. He lay still for it as Steve spread the ointment up and down his crease, rubbed it over the curves of his ass and down into his thighs, working it thoroughly into Tony’s skin until he felt a soft, tingling pleasure and numbness from his knees on up to the small of his back. Eventually Steve slid his hands under his hips, rubbed ointment in there, too, down over the front side of Tony’s thighs, before he came back around and skimmed his hands up, heels first, over the loose, lax muscles of Tony’s thighs again, working in a little more ointment until Tony was a soft, loose, tired puddle of pleasure and relaxation, like he was floating in a deep, warm pool. He had his eyes closed, breathing deeply and easily into the towels, as he heard Steve open a package and then a thick strip of smooth, sticky plastic bandage applied to the small of his back. 

“That strip is pain medication, all right?” Steve asked, leaving his hand over it, against the small of Tony’s back, until warmth bled into Tony through his hand.

“Gotcha,” Tony mumbled.

“I’ll give you another one with that starts to wear off,” Steve said. “If you’re still awake, at least. And then maybe another one tomorrow morning. That okay?” His thumb rubbed gently up and down over the strip, over the skin of Tony's back, along his spine.

“Mmm,” Tony agreed. He was in no mood to complain.

The next thing he felt was a gentle sting against the tender, throbbing wound on his back. Steve had bitten deep, and when Tony felt how sore it still was, he sucked in his breath.

“I think I broke the skin a little bit here,” Steve said, his voice sheepish and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“S’okay,” Tony mumbled. “I like that. S’feels good. All sore and throbbing.”

“Mmm,” Steve said, and he touched the puffy skin around the bruise gently before he went back to cleaning the swollen, throbbing bruised place with the wet soft cloth he had in his hand, soaked in alcohol or whatever he was using to clean it. “I’m glad it doesn’t feel too bad.” Once he had it cleaned, Tony felt him smooth more ointment over it, then press a gauze pad against the wide, splotchy bruise and smooth the edges down with tape.

“But you won’t be able to see it,” Tony protested. He liked it when Steve looked over the marks he’d left on his body.

“I’ll give it a good look tomorrow,” Steve said, rubbing his thumb gently over the soft dry gauze of the pad and making the bruise tingle even through the bandage. “Promise. Maybe even suck it a little bit darker, deeper. Would you like that, Tony?”

“Mmm,” Tony said, hot and breathless, and rocked his hips to push his cock in against the bed, rubbing the raw, tired skin of his dick against the rough terrycloth of the towels instinctively at the thought. “I would like that, cupcake. I’d, I’d like it a lot.”

“Then I promise,” Steve said, and his hands wandered down, soft and gentle and feather-light over Tony’s skin until his fingertips brushed over the bruises clustered deep and thick over Tony’s hips. “Maybe these, too. Darken them up until they’re throbbing, so you don’t have any choice but to remember me inside you every time you move, every time your hip brushes the inside of your office chair, huh?”

Tony moaned. “I’d like that so much,” he said honestly, all hot and dizzy with the thought, the images.

Next Steve’s hand trailed down the sensitive insides of Tony’s thighs. “These too,” he said. “Nice little fingertip bruises all up and down your pretty thighs. Make ‘em deeper so you feel ‘em all the time, whenever you walk around.”

“That’d be so nice,” Tony sighed happily, cock tingling with the pleasure of the thought. “Can you, Steve babe?”

“It’d be my pleasure,” Steve said, all heated sincerity. “I’ll do it tomorrow, sweetheart. Maybe in the shower, if we take one together. Leave you all bruised up and feeling me before you go into work, huh?” His hands slid up and down over Tony’s thighs, his rear, gentle and caressing. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you, right?”

“I would,” Tony breathed. “For sure, Steve.”

“You sure do love feeling it,” Steve said, all soft and fond, and leaned down over Tony to trail a gentle kiss over his neck.

“Love you,” Tony murmured. He shivered under the kiss, felt the slick slide of his body inside, a reminder of Steve inside him without the pain, just slickness and a tingle of pleasure. He let Steve slide an arm under him, roll him gently onto his back against the towels, smiled up at him, even though his eyes felt heavy-lidded and tired before they slipped closed again.

“Love you, too,” Steve said, softly, and left a gentle kiss on Tony’s lips, one he tried to return, soft and slow, without opening his eyes. Steve’s hands traced down over his belly, pressed on him slightly, palpating his stomach, his abs, as if checking for anything wrong, and Tony sighed and let his legs splay out slightly so Steve could kneel between them as he rolled the heel of his hand over his middle, checked him up and down. It felt good, Steve’s touch, and Tony wasn’t all that surprised when Steve curled his fingers gently around Tony’s half-hard cock, stroked it lightly and then pressed it up against his belly. His fingers tingled oddly against the raw, tired, sensitive skin, not quite painful, but making Tony shiver in a new way. Steve didn’t mention Tony’s soft, half-erection, but he did stroke him gently for a while, rubbing his thumb over the tip until it smeared in the precome there, and making Tony moan.

“’m tired,” Tony complained, as heat and pleasure built in his belly, made his thighs shake.

“I know,” Steve breathed, trailing a finger gently down Tony’s shaft to the base. “Sorry. Just like to play with your cock.”

“E-even when it’s, it’s all soft and stupid like this?” Tony asked, feeling hot and self-conscious.

“Mmm,” Steve said, fingers gently circling the head, not pinching, but teasing just on the verge of it, until Tony was trembling under him, before he smoothed his open palm down over the soft. “Yeah, just like this, Tony. You’re all soft and sweet like this, barely, just a little bit, hard, and jumping and trembling under my hand, but all . . . soft and limp and vulnerable.  Not stupid at all. I like your cock whether it’s hard or soft.”

Tony flushed, but it felt good to hear Steve say that, satisfying and—and warm. A little glow started inside him, in his chest and deep in his belly, because at least Steve didn’t find it a turn off, or thought he was ugly or stupid or gross like this. Steve’s fingers cupped his balls gently, then stroked gently up through Tony’s pubic hair, where he kept it cropped short and careful in a little patch above and around his cock.

“You keep yourself so pretty,” Steve said. “You ever let this grow a little bit?”

“Like to keep it short,” Tony mumbled. He only neglected his physical grooming when—when he felt really bad. He liked it, to feel clean and well kept, and when he didn’t, well . . . it fit how he felt when he was miserable, to let it go. But he hated to feel that way. His cock was heavy and limp, warm against his thigh where Steve had let it go, and aimless, tired wanting throbbed in his gut. It was nice when Steve moved his hands up, massaged them over Tony’s belly, like he was massaging out the need, the desire, where it burned there like embers deep in Tony’s belly and groin. Tony groaned, arched his back so his belly pushed up into Steve’s hands, as Steve’s thumbed pressed and rubbed against his abs, on either side of his belly button, and Tony’s whole body shivered with his touch. Steve kept at it for a while, until Tony was back to being a boneless puddle under him on the bed, against the towels, then wiped his hands on a towel and moved up to clean and spread ointment over the throbbing bruise on his shoulder, above his collarbone, before he bandaged that too with gauze and a bit of tape he smoothed out gently with his thumb.

“There,” Steve said, and Tony opened his eyes sleepily, raised his hips when Steve tapped one of them so he could pull the boxers back up over Tony’s thighs and hips and cock, going soft again and losing its half-erection now, then the soft fluffy pants he’d had on him before, before he could settle back down into the bed. He felt very aware of the slickness inside him, around his hole, now that he was covered, but just as he’d suspected, it didn’t leak or ooze too much down his thighs, so that was fine. Then Steve lifted him, pulled the sweatshirt back down over Tony’s head and arms as he lifted them up to make it easier, kissed his lips gently, and tugged the towels out from under them, pushing Tony back against the pillows. “Nice and warm?” Steve asked, letting his hand rest on Tony’s belly, over the sweatshirt. The cloth scratched softly against Tony’s still sensitive, aching nipples, still hot and puffy and very tender with even the slightest touch after the attention Steve had paid to them.

“Mmm,” Tony said, and reached up, let his hands rest on Steve’s warm, broad shoulders, tugged at him lightly, with all the meager strength he had left, feeling a wave of worshipful, intense affection for Steve welling up inside him. Steve obliged him, of course he did, wrapping his arms around Tony’s back and lifting him up so Tony could press their lips together gently, softly, pulling Tony close against his chest, so that Tony could wrap his arms around Steve’s neck and shoulders. Steve’s mouth was soft and warm and wet against his, and he kissed Tony softly and deeply, letting Tony open his mouth for him, welcome him inside, gently swiping his tongue over Tony’s in soft, pleasure-filled, gentle sweeps. Steve’s arms closed around Tony’s waist, low, making him feel warmly held, Steve’s big forearms against his sides, under his ribs, against his kidneys. 

They kissed for a long time, warm and soft, Steve eventually allowing Tony to slide his tongue into Steve’s mouth, return the soft, deep kisses Steve had given him. Tony’s mind was thick with warmth and love and pleasure, dizzy and slow like honey and sunshine, when Steve pulled back from the kiss, kissed the side of Tony’s mouth, sucked softly on the swollen slickness of his bottom lip, kissed the other seam of his mouth, then brushed a kiss against his nose. Tony smiled and leaned in to return the gesture, and Steve’s smile was bright and pleased as he nuzzled his cheek against Tony’s, soft barely-there golden stubble against Tony’s beard and freshly shaved smooth, sensitive skin, then pushed him back against the pillows again. Steve’s hands slid down over Tony’s sides, and Tony sighed happily, smoothed his hands down over Steve’s broad chest, shaping the broad smooth planes of him under his own sweatshirt.

“So it was good?” Tony mumbled. “You’re doing so much for me now. You sure you’ll still relaxed?” He moved his hands up, cupped Steve’s face, feeling the warmth of his skin, of his slight flush. Steve looked relaxed, all rosy cheeks and brilliant blue eyes, tousled golden hair and a broad, sloppy, tired grin, lips all wet and red and kiss-stung and gorgeously swollen with it, but Tony wanted to make sure. This had all been for Steve, after all.

“So relaxed,” Steve promised, ducking his face down to press a kiss against the heel of Tony’s hand. “Really.” He reached up, took Tony’s hands in his, and squeezed, before he pulled them away, covered first the knuckles of one of them with kisses, then the other. Tony felt himself smile self-consciously, his eyes drop. Steve layered soft kisses up over Tony’s pulse on one side, up under the cuff of his sweatshirt, before he let Tony’s arms sink back down into the bed on either side of him, cupped his hands on either side of Tony’s neck and kissed his forehead gently. “You were so good for me, Tony,” he murmured. “You felt so good.”

Tony smiled. That had been the whole idea, and it felt good to think that Steve had enjoyed it. Enjoyed him. He smiled and closed his eyes in pleasure.

“That’s it,” Steve said, stroking Tony’s forearms, his arms, then his chest, gently, carefully avoiding his nipples. Tony sighed under him, pressed up against the touches despite himself. “You relax, there’s a good boy.”

Tony smiled, flushing, knew he was still a good bit under from that reaction, and was glad Steve was being so gentle with him through it. He didn’t feel like he’d surface from that space for a long time, barring some kind of crisis that would make him jerk his brain back into gear with the painful jolt of adrenaline. Steve stroked his hair a little, then pulled away. He was back a moment later, touching Tony’s jaw, stroking along his beard until Tony opened his eyes and Steve touched his bottom lip with his thumb, pressed down slightly, a coaxing pressure that had Tony opening his mouth instinctively before he thought.

“Want you to take some pain pills,” Steve said, “and an antibiotic, just in case. That okay with you? They’re just aspirin, I promise.”

Tony made a face, but he let his mouth stay open as Steve placed the pills on his tongue, then closed it and swallowed them with a few sips of the glass of water Steve held to his lips. The water tasted, felt, nice, pleasantly cool and soft on his throat. He closed his eyes then, and felt Steve move over him, tug at the blankets. He was about to cover Tony when Tony realized the throbbing need in his bladder and raised a hand, laid it over Steve’s.

“N-not yet,” he managed to slur out. “I need, uh, to, I need to pee again.”

“Oh, right,” Steve said. “Yeah, that makes sense. Here.” He helped Tony move, arm around his shoulders, the other shifting his hips, his legs, over to the side of the bed, and Tony hissed as his bladder throbbed at the movement. He hadn’t even been aware of it until a second ago. He was unsteady on his feet when Steve helped him up, and Steve slid an arm around him, kissed the side of his head, and helped him limp unsteadily to the bathroom, where Tony waved him away and clumsily managed to pull his boxers and pants down himself. He sat down on the toilet, too tired to worry about standing up, and stayed there for a while until he was sure he was done, before he wiped and flushed. He was washing his hands when Steve came back and slid his arms around him from behind, kissing Tony just under his ear.

“You seem tired,” he murmured.

“Exhausted is more like it,” Tony said, with a smile, drying his hands and then letting himself lean back against Steve’s broad, willingly supportive, steadying strength.

“Think you’ll sleep tonight?” Steve asked. His hands slid under Tony’s sweatshirt, smoothed gently, warm and broad and wonderful against his belly, along his skin.

“Like a rock, probably,” Tony said. He turned his head, let it rest against the hollow of Steve’s neck. He felt so wonderful, so grounding and safe and welcoming. “How about you, big guy?”

“Oh, for sure,” Steve said, and his soft smile was in his voice as much as it was visible in the mirror as he turned his face into Tony’s wildly curling, tousled hair, still a little damp, and left a kiss there.

“That should be the standard prescription for insomnia,” Tony mumbled against Steve’s wonderfully smooth, warm, damp neck. “No need for sleeping pills, just a good hard, long fuck.”

Steve snorted a surprised little laugh. “Well, it’d do the trick,” he said, rubbing Tony’s belly gently with one hand.

“Oh, yeah,” Tony yawned, and nuzzled in close against Steve’s neck. He smelled so good, just like himself and his own clean skin and soap. “Only a little soreness as a side effect.”

“A lot more than that, I’d say,” Steve said, sounding fond. “You’re still pretty far under; you have no idea how sore you’re gonna be.”

“I know it’ll be worth every second I spend hurting,” Tony said, deeply satisfied.

“I hope so,” Steve said, slipping his hand out from under Tony’s sweatshirt and sliding it gently up his side, then stroking his hair.

“I know it will,” Tony sighed. “Are you sore?” He let his hand flop down, slip between Steve’s legs and squeeze at the heavy, thick shape of his cock in his sweatpants, caught up by his underwear.

Steve sucked in his breath, almost moaned. “Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t move Tony’s hand away, instead pushed his hips forward, rocking his soft cock into the touch, because he was a sweet little masochist. “Real raw and aching. Should be gone by tomorrow, though; kept you nice and loose and slick and there wasn’t a lot of chafing to keep me feeling it.”

“Good,” Tony said, nudging his knuckles up and down along Steve’s shaft and enjoying the way he gasped and trembled under him. It was kind of fun, deliciously novel, to feel Steve staying soft and tired under his touch, his cock hot but barely thickening through his soft pants and underwear. It was kind of fascinating.  “Since I want you to fuck me that one last time, and I don’t want you to be sore when you do it.” Eventually, he took pity on Steve and let his hand fall away, then turned around in Steve’s arms and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

“Mmm,” Steve said, and leaned into it, opening his mouth for the kiss. His hands came down, stroked along Tony’s sore, bruised hips, feeling the shape of them gently with his palms. Tony pulled away slowly and let his head rest on Steve’s shoulder, enjoying the slight, tingling soreness, barely anything at all since he’d been covered in ointment and medicated all to hell, that Steve’s fingers along those sore places left. They stood there for a few moment, before Steve nudged Tony gently, turning him around and leading him back to the bed with both hands on his back and shoulders. Tony shuffled slowly, not trusting himself to move any faster, across the bedroom until they got to the bed, and Steve turned it down for him before he slid inside himself and helped Tony up onto it, pulled and pushed at him gently until he got him lying down and leaning against him, tucking the covers up over him until Tony was warmly curled up against his side, comfortable and contented warm in the bed, welcoming its deep softness and firmness for his tired, gently aching body. _Oh_ , he found himself thinking, _Steve changed the bedding_ , and then he felt stupid he hadn't thought that earlier, because of course he had, otherwise it would have been all wet and gross and sticky from before. Or maybe not wet, still, but definitely gross, and it wasn't, it was warm and soft and wonderful. Steve was wonderful. Steve was so perfect, so good to him like this. Steve’s hand came up, curved gently around the back of Tony’s neck, steadying and easy, soft, before he stroked through Tony’s hair.

“Yeah,” Tony mumbled. “You gave me a nice, good, exhausting fuck, big guy.”

“My pleasure,” Steve said, flushing lightly, his fingers moving down and wandering gently over Tony’s shoulders where they were exposed by the loose sweatshirt. “Honestly. Love you, Tony. Thank you.”

“Mmm,” Tony sighed. He lay there and enjoyed Steve’s caresses as Steve held him, the solid strength under his cheek. He felt very loose and relaxed and soft, easy, like he was melting slowly into the bed. “Love you too.”

“And now I get to cuddle with you,” Steve said, voice soft and longing and just—full of sweet, warm anticipation. “It’s the best part. Been wanting this for weeks.”

“Then you should have come to me,” Tony told him, tilting his head up and pressing a kiss against his jaw.

Steve bit his lip, and his jaw worked as he looked away. “I was—I was so—I didn’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.

“Listen, sweetness,” Tony murmured. “I don’t want you always so worried about hurting me that you hurt yourself.” He lifted a hand, let his slide gently along Steve’s jaw, along his neck, over his shoulder. “I’m here. All right? Don’t need to be alone.”

“All right,” Steve sighed, and melted back into the pillows himself. “I didn’t even think of this solution,” he said. “You showed me a thing or two.”

Tony rolled himself onto him more solidly, traced his fingers over Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah?” he murmured against the soft skin of Steve’s throat as it worked, as he swallowed.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “That even when I feel so—rotten, I can come to you, do—this with you without hurting you too much. And I’ll feel better afterwards.” 

“Good,” Tony said. “That’s what I wanted you to learn, Stevie-boy.” He slid his arm back behind Steve’s head and kissed him decisively, firmly on the lips. “We’re together, and that means finding new ways to work out the tension. Right?”

“Right,” Steve sighed, and both hands came up, stroked through Tony’s hair again. “I love you,” he said again, smiling all bright and soft. “I’m so glad to be here with you like this.”

Tony felt himself warm, the self-consciousness very thick and bright inside him, and hid his face against Steve’s neck, pressing it in tight against the hollow there and inhaling Steve’s warmth, his smell. “Mmm, well, you know,” he mumbled. “I love you, too. Everything I have is yours. Including my, you know, ass. My, uh, body.”

“You’re so generous,” Steve murmured, sounding almost wondering, pressing gentle, soft kisses over Tony’s ear, stroking his hair, the back of his neck, the loose muscles of his shoulders. 

“Easy to be generous to you,” Tony breathed.

“I hope I don’t take too much advantage of that,” Steve said, sounding rueful.

“You don’t,” Tony assured him. “Don’t take enough, if you ask me.”

“Mmm,” Steve said, stroking the back of Tony’s neck with slow, gentle strokes. “Well, it’s very good of you. And maybe I can take a little tiny bit of advantage. Like tonight. You enjoyed tonight, didn’t you, Tony?”

“So much,” Tony said, breathless and eager to assure Steve of how very much he had enjoyed their time together that night. “It was exactly what I wanted, every second of it.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Steve said, gentle hands working at Tony’s shoulders, warm and sweet and solid, before they moved back up over his neck. “I never imagined it, you know,” he added. “I never thought that you had—so—so much, uh, capacity, I guess. To be, uh, um . . .” 

“Used?” Tony suggested. “Ridden hard and put away wet?”

“Um, both those things,” Steve said, his face scarlet. “That’s it.”

“’m happy to,” Tony assured him. “One Tony Stark, gently used, at your service, Captain Rogers. Use as you see fit.” He reached up, took Steve’s hands in his, and tugged them down to his hips to clasp his fingers over them, feel that warm touch against his bruised, softly, gently aching skin. “Comes equipped with a rather tight ass, probably quite the squeeze for a man of your size, unless you ream it right open, but the thighs are nice and full as per your specifications, and the ass should be fairly satisfactory for an ass man like yourself. And the mouth is very, very willing. This model has a,” he nuzzled at Steve’s neck, mouthed at the skin, wet and warm, “an oral fixation, and loves giving oral pleasure, always happy to serve you.”

“Tony,” Steve said, choking on a laugh.

“Are you happy with him?” Tony purred. “Not much warranty left. It’s getting attached to you, and you know what happens after that.”

“What’s that?” Steve asked, voice gentle as his hands slid warm and soft over Tony’s thighs.

“No returns after that,” Tony said, and his voice surprised him by hitching a little. He buried his face tightly against Steve’s neck. “S’no good. Gets clingy and needy. Hard to get rid of. No good for anyone else when that happens.”

“Not a drawback in my book,” Steve said, fingers gently stroking Tony’s thighs, up over his ass, along his flanks and up to his ribs, before he stroked the backs of them gently up and down his sides. “I like this model, uh, of Tony. Clinginess and all. Even if the cock’s a little bit—bit worn out sometimes, gets tired. I know it’s sensitive about that. But it’s not a problem for me.”

“You sure?” Tony mumbled, chest hitching on the words. “Lots of models are younger, or—or have fewer defective parts. This one’s been through a lot. Could trade him in for something, uh, someone, younger, hotter, that could give you a better ride.”

“Nah,” Steve said. “There are other, uh, models, sure.” Gentle fingers along his jaw, tilting his face up until Tony met Steve’s eyes. “But none of them are my Tony,” Steve murmured, “and that’s all I want.”

Tony bit his lip, felt like his face was twisting stupidly with emotion, all his stupid feelings showing on it, before Steve let him lean forward and press a desperate, needy kiss into his mouth, hot with all his overflowing feelings. Steve kissed him back, just as warm and intense and deep, and when Tony let himself pull away and flop bonelessly against Steve’s shoulder, Steve nuzzled his forehead and left a gentle kiss there, stroking his hair and along his flank until Tony went soft and loose over him.

“Don’t plan to get rid of you,” Steve said, fingers gentle on Tony’s side, his scalp. “Not any time soon. Not ever.”

“I love you,” Tony mumbled helplessly into Steve’s sweatshirt, fingers curling into the soft fabric without his permission. Steve’s hand slid gently down over his spine through his own clothes, ducking under the blankets.

“And I love you, too,” Steve said, softly. “Every last inch of you, whatever happens.” His hand came up along Tony’s side, the other one, slid gently over Tony’s heart, brushing his nipple and making him shiver as a side effect of pressing close, bleeding warmth through his sweatshirt. “And what’s inside here, too,” he murmured. “In your heart.”

“Even when I’m a pain?” Tony mumbled.

“Mmhmm,” Steve said.

“Even when we’re fighting?” Tony added.

“Hell, whoever said you have to agree with someone all the time to love them?” Steve asked.

“Hmm, well,” Tony said. “Just think I’m difficult, that’s all.”

“Difficult and generous and fascinating and brilliant and impossible to walk away from,” Steve said. “Yeah. I like that part.”

“Hmph,” Tony said, and pressed his face close against Steve’s chest. “Okay. If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Steve said. “I like how difficult you are, Tony Stark, no matter how hard it is for you to believe it. Besides, you give me a _great_ ride.”

Tony had to give a little laugh at that, pleased by that, that Steve thought he gave him a great ride, whatever else, even as Tony curled in tighter against him, burying his face against Steve’s chest so he could feel his heart beat, steady and strong and reassuring, as Steve’s hand slid out from between them and stroked up and down Tony’s back.

“Ah, yeah, that’s it,” Steve said, “snuggle up close. I like to feel you there so much. That feels so good.” His arms slid around Tony’s back, hugging him even closer. Tony sighed, happily. He felt so warm. He rubbed his cheek against Steve’s soft sweatshirt, enjoying the sound of his heartbeat, and let his arms slide down, curve gently along Steve’s sides. He felt him shiver under him, as if in pleasure.

“You gonna hold me all night long?” Tony mumbled.

“That’s the general idea,” Steve murmured. His fingers combed gently through Tony’s hair. “I missed you. I missed this.”

“So you’re not going to wander away from my bed for so long again?” Tony mumbled, pressing little kisses up over Steve’s neck.

“Not if I can help it,” Steve sighed, turning his head to press a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “I almost forgot how good you feel right here.”

“Mmm,” Tony agreed, pressing his own face even closer to Steve’s shoulder. “’S the best.” He felt his eyes drooping, wanting to close. Steve was just so—so warm and comforting and sturdy there alongside him, under him, enfolding his tired body in warmth. Steve really had given him everything he hadn’t been able to give himself—the release of sex without a physical release from his cock, the pleasant exhausted hum of closeness and intimacy and sexual exertion until his body was loose and tired. It was exactly what he hadn’t been able to get from his own hand on his recalcitrant cock, trying to rub one out and failing, even his own fingers awkwardly shoved up his ass, or the few dildos he’d tried to use. It hadn’t been the same. He’d needed Steve to scratch that itch, to fuck him into this blissful, floating, submissively soft relaxation. Tony couldn’t let himself fuzz out like this alone; he should know that by now. Like this, though, he felt safe, held close, appreciated and warm, even loved, not cold and tense and lonely and tight with the need to work, to fix things, to solve—solve everything he could.

Steve loved him, and it actually felt like that, safe and warm, sweet, enfolded in warmth, even when, especially when, he was exhausted, and his body hurt, sore with wonderful sex, with the beautiful knowledge that he was this sore and tender because his body had served Steve’s in every way it could, he could. Tony felt sweetly, submissively sore, and it was surprisingly perfect, surprisingly wonderful. Steve’s hands came up, rubbed at the back of his neck, stroking gently, and Tony sighed in pleasure, his tired body going even looser, even more relaxed. The exhaustion that had been lurking in the back of his mind, under his achingly tense muscles, for days, blossomed slow and dark, lapping over him in slow, soft waves, and Tony was far too loose and relaxed to fight it.

“You going to sleep well?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “Going to sleep great, Tony.”

“Good,” Tony mumbled. “I think I’m just about there, honeymuffin. You, you give the best massages. Just so you know. Knocked me right out. Sorry I can’t stay awake to cuddle . . . cuddle longer.” His voice stretched out on a yawn, but he didn’t bother to feel embarrassed.

“’S okay,” Steve said, his own voice heavy and deep, slow with sleep. “I want you to sleep, Tony, sweetheart. You need it. Love you.” 

“Love you, too,” Tony breathed out. “So much.” He pressed one last kiss to Steve’s chest, and Steve’s hand smoothed through his hair one last time, and then he was asleep.

He hadn’t sleep so well or so deeply in months, and if he dreamed of anything other than warmth and steady arms around him and softness and feeling safe, so, so damn safe, he didn’t remember it, not at all.

The next day, he was sore, but hell, it was worth it, more than worth it. And even if it hadn’t been on its own, seeing the relaxed easiness in Steve’s shoulders, the brilliant smile on his face, would have made it more than worth it in and of itself, in every single way Tony could imagine.


End file.
